CONISTON 


WINSTON 
CHURCHILL 


ANNE   DILLON 


DCS  moincs,  Iowa 


******************************** 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

Mrs.  Helen  A.  Dillon 


MACMILLAN'S      STANDARD     LIBRARY 


CONISTON 


CONISTON 


BY 


WINSTON  CHURCHILL 

AUTHOR  OF  "RICHARD  CARVEL,"  "THE  CRISIS," 
"THE  CROSSING,"  BTC. 


WITH  ILLUBTRATIOire  BT 
FLORENCE  8COVEL  8HINN 


NEW   YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS 


1904, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  June,  1906.     Reprinted 
July,  August,  twice,  September,  October,  November,  1906 ; 
March,  1907  ;  January,  1911. 


Kortoooft 

J.  8.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.8.A. 


Collegt 
Library 

•ps 


to 

M.  H.  O. 


"  We  have  been  compelled  to  see  what  was  weak  in  democ 
racy  as  well  as  what  was  strong.  We  have  begun  obscurely 
to  recognize  that  things  do  not  go  of  themselves,  and  that 
popular  government  is  not  in  itself  a  panacea,  is  no  better 
than  any  other  form  except  as  the  virtue  and  wisdom  of  the 
people  make  it  so,  and  that  when  men  undertake  to  do  their 
own  kingship,  they  enter  upon  tJie  dangers  and  responsibilities 
as  well  as  the  privileges  of  the  function.  Above  all,  it  looks 
as  if  we  were  on  the  way  to  be  persuaded  that  no  government 
can  be  carried  on  by  declamation" 

— JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 

OBAFTO 

FAflB 

L 

J 

IL 

14 

m. 

The  Clerk  and  the  Locket        ,.       .,     *.«    ff.t"^r 

22 

IV. 

31 

V. 

The  King  is  Dead  !    Long  Live  the  King  !       .        .  > 

.      43 

VL 

"Deep  as  First  Love,  and  Wild  with  All  Regret"   . 

.      62 

vn. 

"  And  Still  the  Ages  roll,  Unmoved  "... 

.      69 

VIII. 

It  is  Something  to  have  Dreamed     .... 

.      87 

IX. 

Shake  Hands  with  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby         .        .        . 

.    103 

X. 

How  the  Rebellion  was  Quenched    .... 

.    118 

XI. 

Mr.  Worthington  becomes  a  Reformer     . 

.    128 

XII. 

"  A  Time  to  Weep,  and  a  Time  to  Laugh  "     . 

.    147 

XIH. 

Mr.  Wetherell  descends  into  the  Arena   .        .        . 

.    155 

XIV. 

In  which  the  Back  Seats  are  Heard  From        •        . 

.    169 

XV. 

182 

XVI. 

"Cvnthia  loved  You" 

,    202 

BOOK  II 

I.    In  the  Tannery  House       .        .        ,       «      ..        .        '.  217 

II.    Chiefly  concerning  the  National  Game     ....  229 

HI.    Journeys  to  Go .        .        ,V 245 

IV.    "  Judge  Bass  and  Party ".        .'"'..        .        .        .  256 

V.    Cousin  Ephraim's  Comrade 267 

VL    Mr.  Sutton  talks  to  a  Constituent 283 

VII.    An  Amazing  Encounter 305 

a. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

VIII.  Cynthia  learns  how  to  be  Fashionable  .        .        . 

IX.  In  which  Mr.  Merrill  abandons  a  Habit 

X.     Of  an  Unexpected  Return 

XI.  In  which  Miss  Sadler  writes  a  Letter    .        .        . 

XII.     "  In  the  Tannery  Shed ! " 

XIII.  Cynthia  becomes  a  Teacher 

XIV.  In  which  the  Lord  of  Brampton  Returns       .        . 
XV.  Containing  a  Dramatic  Climax      .... 

XVI.  Miss  Lucretia  quotes  Genesis          .... 

XVII.     When  the  Pie  was  Opened 

XVIII.  A  Biographical  Episode  :  Hitherto  Unpublished  . 

XIX.  Containing  Free  Transportation  to  Brampton 

XX.  "  To  change  the  Name,  and  not  the  Letter  " 

AFTERWORD  .  .       «„      « 541 


PAGI 

320 
338 
357 
372 
385 
401 
420 
445 
469 
489 
503 
517 
532 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FAOB 


"  As  our  story  largely  concerns  him  "  .     •  •  *  •  •• '  ••  +•,  irxfr.-  ;i  •        .        5 
"  Moses  was  a  steady-going  young  man  "      .,-;»..;.        .        .        9 

••  And  sat  in  the  rear  slip  " 16 

•"It's  not  too  good  f  or  Cynthy"'.        .        .        .        .  '     .        .27 
" Mr.  Worthington  was  downright  distinguished-looking  under 

his  gray  beaver " 33 

«« All  that  distance'"    .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .38 

"<  You  be  always  croakin',  Lysander'" 47 

"  Priest  Ware,  preaching  in  mittens  " 56 

'"  I  will  tell  you  the  story  of  Jethro  Baas  "*         ....      71 
"  Led  her,  toddling,  out  into  the  sunny  Common  "       .        .        .74 

"'M-may  I  call  you  Cynthy ? '" 84 

"  He  indicted  no  less  than  twenty  of  his  fellow-townsmen  "         .      93 

" « Mornin',  Dudley '" .99 

"  Deep  in  conversation  with  a  boy "  .        .        .'       .        .    101 

'•  Through  the  streets  of  the  capital  on  Jethro's  arm  " .        .        .    130 
"  Cynthia  became  a  country  girl ".        .        .        .        ...    132 

"  Tom  Richardson  unexpectedly  embraced  the  schoolhouse  stove  "    135 
"  At  the  rate  of  one  hundred  and  eight  words  a  minute  "    .        .    142 

"  It  was,  indeed,  Miss  Cassandra  Hopkins  " 167 

"  Of  their  progress  along  Broadway  " 254 

"  A  man  smoking  a  cigar  " 269 

"'  I've  been  making  up  stories  about  you' "         ....    286 


xii  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAOB 


" '  You  know  the  Broke  house  in  Washington  Square,  of  course ' "  324 

" '  An'  him  such  a  fine  young  gintleman  1 ' " 341 

" '  I'm  coming  to  see  you  the  minute  I  get  back ' "       .        .        .  349 

Mrs.  Samuel  Price 397 

"  Trooped  with  muddy  boots  into  the  meeting-house  "         .        .  427 

"  Then  they  trooped  sadly  on  to  school " 446 

"  How  stiffly  Miss  Lucretia  sat  in  her  chair  "  462 

*  To  chat  with  certain  old  friends  "......  477 


CONISTON 


CONISTON 

BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  I 

ON  THE  DANGERS   OF  CURIOSITY 

FIRST  I  am  to  write  a  love-story  of  long  ago,  of  a  time 
some  little  while  after  General  Jackson  had  got  into  the 
White  House  and  had  shown  the  world  what  a  real  democ 
racy  was.  The  Era  of  the  first  six  Presidents  had  closed, 
and  a  new  Era  had  begun.  I  am  speaking  of  political  Eras. 
Certain  gentlemen,  with  a  pious  belief  in  democracy,  but 
with  a  firmer  determination  to  get  on  top,  arose,  —  and  got 
on  top.  So  many  of  these  gentlemen  arose  in  the  differ 
ent  states,  and  they  were  so  clever,  and  they  found  so 
many  chinks  in  the  Constitution  to  crawl  through  and 
steal  the  people's  chestnuts,  that  the  Era  may  be  called 
the  Boss-Era.  After  the  Boss  came  along  certain  Things 
without  souls,  but  of  many  minds,  and  found  more  chinks 
in  the  Constitution:  bigger  chinks,  for  the  Things  were 
bigger,  and  they  stole  more  chestnuts.  But  I  am  getting 
far  ahead  of  my  love-story  —  and  of  my  book. 

The  reader  is  warned  that  this  first  love-story  will,  in  a 
few  chapters,  come  to  an  end :  and  not  to  a  happy  end  — 
otherwise  there  would  be  no  book.  Lest  he  should  throw 
the  book  away  when  he  arrives  at  this  page,  it  is  only  fair 
to  tell  him  that  there  is  another  and  a  much  longer  love- 
story  later  on,  if  he  will  only  continue  to  read,  in  which, 
it  is  hoped,  he  may  not  be  disappointed. 

The  hills    seem  to  leap  up  against   the  sky  as  I  de- 


2  CONISTON 

scribe  that  region  where  Cynthia  Ware  was  born,  and 
the  very  old  country  names  help  to  summon  up  the 
picture.  Coniston  Mountain,  called  by  some  the  Blue 
Mountain,  clad  in  Hercynian  forests,  ten  good  miles  in 
length,  north  and  south,  with  its  notch  road  that  winds 
over  the  saddle  behind  the  withers  of  it.  Coniston  Water, 
that  oozes  out  from  under  the  loam  in  a  hundred  places 
on  the  eastern  slope,  gathers  into  a  rushing  stream  to 
cleave  the  very  granite,  flows  southward  around  the  south 
end  of  Coniston  Mountain,  and  having  turned  the  mills  at 
Brampton,  idles  through  meadows  westward  in  its  own 
green  valley  until  it  comes  to  Harwich,  where  it  works 
again  and  tumbles  into  a  river.  Brampton  and  Harwich 
are  rivals,  but  Coniston  Water  gives  of  its  power  impar 
tially  to  each.  From  the  little  farm  clearings  on  the 
western  slope  of  Coniston  Mountain  you  can  sweep  the 
broad  valley  of  a  certain  broad  river  where  grew  (and 
grow  still )  the  giant  pines  that  gave  many  a  mast  to  King 
George's  navy  as  tribute  for  the  land.  And  beyond  that 
river  rises  beautiful  Farewell  Mountain  of  many  colors, 
now  sapphire,  now  amethyst,  its  crest  rimmed  about  at 
evening  with  saffron  flame;  and,  beyond  Farewell,  the 
emerald  billows  of  the  western  peaks  catching  the 
level  light.  A  dozen  little  brooks  are  born  high  among 
the  western  spruces  on  Coniston  to  score  deep,  cool  valleys 
in  their  way  through  Clovelly  township  to  the  broad 
river — valleys  full  of  the  music  of  the  water  and  fresh 
with  the  odor  of  the  ferns. 

To  this  day  the  railroad  has  not  reached  Coniston  Vil 
lage  —  nay,  nor  Coniston  Flat,  four  miles  nearer  Brampton. 
The  village  lies  on  its  own  little  shelf  under  the  forest-clad 
slope  of  the  mountain,  and  in  the  midst  of  its  dozen 
houses  is  the  green  triangle  where  the  militia  used  to  drill 
on  June  days.  At  one  end  of  the'triangle  is  the  great  pine 
mast  that  graced  no  frigate  of  George's,  but  flew  the  stars 
and  stripes  on  many  a  liberty  day.  Across  the  road  is 
Jonah  Winch's  store,  with  a  platform  so  high  that  a  man 
may  step  off  his  horse  directly  on  to  it;  with  its  checker- 
paned  windows,  with  its  dark  interior  smelling  of  coffee 


ON  THE  DANGERS   OF  CURIOSITY  3 

and  apples  and  molasses,  yes,  and  of  Endea  rum  —  for  this 
was  before  the  days  of  the  revivals. 

How  those  checker-paned  windows  bring  back  the 
picture  of  that  village  green!  The  meeting-house  has 
them,  lantern-like,  wide  and  high,  in  three  sashes  —  white 
meeting-house,  seat  alike  of  government  and  religion,  with 
its  terraced  steeple,  with  its  classic  porches  north  and 
south.  Behind  it  is  the  long  shed,  and  in  front,  rising 
out  of  the  milkweed  and  the  flowering  thistle,  the  horse 
block  of  the  first  meeting-house,  where  many  a  pillion  has 
left  its  burden  in  times  agone.  Honest  Jock  Hallowell 
built  that  second  meeting-house  —  was,  indeed,  still  build 
ing  it  at  the  time  of  which  we  write.  He  had  hewn  every 
beam  and  king  post  in  it,  and  set  every  plate  and  slip. 
And  Jock  Hallowell  is  the  man  who,  unwittingly,  starts 
this  chronicle. 

At  noon,  on  one  of  those  madcap  April  days  of  that  Con- 
iston  country,  Jock  descended  from  his  work  on  the  stee 
ple  to  perceive  the  ungainly  figure  of  Jethro  Bass  coming 
toward  him  across  the  green.  Jethro  was  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  and  he  wore  a  coonskin  cap  even  in  those 
days,  and  trousers  tucked  into  his  boots.  He  carried  his 
big  head  bent  forward,  a  little  to  one  side,  and  was  not,  at 
first  sight,  a  prepossessing-looking  person.  As  our  story 
largely  concerns  him,  and  we  must  get  started  somehow, 
it  may  be  well  to  fix  a  little  attention  on  him. 

"  Heighol  "  said  Jock,  rubbing  his  hands  on  his  leather 
apron. 

"  H-how  be  you,  Jock  ?  "  said  Jethro,  stopping. 

"Heighol  "  cried  Jock,  "what's  this  game  of  fox  and 
geese  you're  a-playin'  among  the  farmers  ?  " 

"  C-callate  to  git  the  steeple  done  before  frost  ? "  in 
quired  Jethro,  without  so  much  as  a  smile.  "  B-build  it 
tight,  Jock  — b-build  it  tight." 

"  Guess  he'll  build  his'n  tight,  whatever  it  is,"  said 
Jock,  looking  after  him  as  Jethro  made  his  way  to  the 
little  tannery  near  by. 

Let  it  be  known  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  social 
rank  in  Coniston;  and  something  which,  for  the  sake  of  an 


4  CONISTON 

advantageous  parallel,  we  may  call  an  Established  Church. 
Coniston  was  a  Congregational  town  still,  and  the  deacons 
and  dignitaries  of  that  church  were  likewise  the  pillars  of 
the  state.  Not  many  years  before  the  time  of  which  we 
write  actual  disestablishment  had  occurred,  when  the 
town  ceased  —  as  a  town  —  to  pay  the  salary  of  Priest 
Ware,  as  the  minister  was  called.  The  father  of 
Jethro  Bass,  Nathan  the  currier,  had  once,  in  a  youthful 
lapse,  permitted  a  Baptist  preacher  to  immerse  him  in 
Coniston  Water.  This  had  been  the  extent  of  Nathan's 
religion;  Jethro  had  none  at  all,  and  was,  for  this  and 
other  reasons,  somewhere  near  the  bottom  of  the  social 
scale. 

"  Fox  and  geese  !  "  repeated  Jock,  with  his  eyes  still  on 
Jethro's  retreating  back.  The  builder  of  the  meeting 
house  rubbed  a  great,  brown  arm,  scratched  his  head,  and 
turned  and  came  face  to  face  with  Cynthia  Ware,  in  a 
poke  bonnet. 

Contrast  is  a  favorite  trick  of  authors,  and  no  greater 
contrast  is  to  be  had  in  Coniston  than  that  between  Cyn 
thia  Ware  and  Jethro  Bass.  In  the  first  place,  Cynthia 
was  the  minister's  daughter,  and  twenty-one.  I  can  sum 
mon  her  now  under  the  great  maples  of  the  village  street, 
a  virginal  figure,  gray  eyes  that  kindled  the  face  shaded 
by  the  poke  bonnet,  and  up  you  went  above  the  clouds. 

"  What  about  fox  and  geese,  Jock  ?  "  said  Cynthia. 

"  Jethro  Bass,"  said  Jock,  who,  by  reason  of  his  capa 
bility,  was  a  privileged  character.  "  Mark  my  words,  Cyn- 
thy,  Jethro  Bass  is  an  all-fired  sight  smarter  than  folks 
in  this  town  think  he  be.  They  don't  take  notice  of  him, 
because  he  don't  say  much,  and  stutters.  He  hain't  be'n 
eddicated  a  great  deal,  but  I  wouldn't  be  afeard  to  warrant 
he'd  make  a  racket  in  the  world  some  of  these  days." 

"  Jock  Hallowell  !  "  cried  Cynthia,  the  gray  eyes  begin 
ning  to  dance,  "  I  suppose  you  think  Jethro's  going  to  be 
President." 

"  All  right,"  said  Jock,  "  you  can  laugh.  Ever  talked 
with  Jethro  ?  " 

"  I've  hardly  spoken  two  words  to  him  in  my  life,"  she 


As  our  story  largely  concerns  him.** 


6  CONISTON 

replied.  And  it  was  true,  although  the  little  white  par 
sonage  was  scarce  two  hundred  yards  from  the  tannery 
house. 

"  Jethro's  never  ailed  much,"  Jock  remarked,  having 
reference  to  Cynthia's  proclivities  for  visiting  the  sick. 
"  I've  seed  a  good  many  different  men  in  my  time,  and 
I  tell  you,  Cynthy  Ware,  that  Jethro's  got  a  kind  of 
power  you  don't  often  come  acrost.  Folks  don't  suspicion 
it." 

In  spite  of  herself,  Cynthia  was  impressed  by  the  ring 
of  sincerity  in  the  builder's  voice.  Now  that  she  thought 
of  it,  there  was  rugged  power  in  Jethro's  face,  especially 
when  he  took  off  the  coonskin  cap.  She  always  nodded  a 
greeting  when  she  saw  him  in  the  tannery  yard  or  on  the 
road,  and  sometimes  he  nodded  back,  but  oftener  he  had  not 
appeared  to  see  her.  She  had  thought  this  failure  to  nod 
stupidity,  but  it  might  after  all  be  abstraction. 

"What  makes  you  think  he  has  ability?"  she  asked, 
picking  flowers  from  a  bunch  of  arbutus  she  held. 

"  He's  rich,  for  one  thing,"  said  Jock.  He  had  not  in 
tended  a  dissertation  on  Jethro  Bass,  but  he  felt  bound  to 
defend  his  statements. 

"Rich!" 

"  Wai,  he  hain't  poor.  He's  got  as  many  as  thirty 
mortgages  round  among  the  farmers  —  some  on  land,  and 
some  on  cattle." 

"  How  did  he  make  the  money  ?  "  demanded  Cynthia, 
in  surprise. 

"  Hides  an'  wool  an'  bark  —  turned  'em  over  an'  swep' 
in.  Gits  a  load,  and  Lyman  Hull  drives  him  down  to 
Boston  with  that  six-hoss  team.  Lyman  gits  drunk, 
Jethro  keeps  sober  and  saves." 

Jock  began  to  fashion  some  wooden  pegs  with  his  knife, 
for  nails  were  scarce  in  those  days.  Still  Cynthia  lingered, 
picking  flowers  from  the  bunch. 

"  What  did  you  mean  by  '  fox  and  geese,'  Jock  ?  "  she 
said  presently. 

Jock  laughed.  He  did  not  belong  to  the  Establishment, 
but  was  a  Universalist ;  politically  he  admired  General 


ON  THE  DANGERS   OF  CURIOSITY  7 

Jackson.  "  What'd  you  say  if  Jethro  was  Chairman  of  the 
next  Board  of  Selectmen  ?  "  he  demanded. 

No  wonder  Cynthia  gasped.  Jethro  Bass,  Chairman  of 
the  Board,  in  the  honored  seat  of  Deacon  Moses  Hatch, 
the  perquisite  of  the  church  in  Coniston  I  The  idea  was 
heresy.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Jock  himself  uttered  it  as 
a  playful  exaggeration.  Certain  nonconformist  farmers, 
of  whom  there  were  not  a  few  in  the  town,  had  come  into 
Jonah  Winch's  store  that  morning;  and  Jabez  Miller, 
who  lived  on  the  north  slope,  had  taken  away  the  breath 
of  the  orthodox  by  suggesting  that  Jethro  Bass  be  nomi 
nated  for  town  office.  Jock  Hallowell  had  paused 
once  or  twice  on  his  work  on  the  steeple  to  look 
across  the  tree-tops  at  Coniston  shouldering  the  sky.  He 
had  been  putting  two  and  two  together,  and  now  he  was 
merely  making  five  out  of  it,  instead  of  four.  He  remem 
bered  that  Jethro  Bass  had  for  some  years  been  journeying 
through  the  town,  buying  his  hides  and  wool,  and  collect 
ing  the  interest  on  his  mortgages. 

Cynthia  would  have  liked  to  reprove  Jock  Hallowell, 
and  tell  him  there  were  some  subjects  which  should  not 
be  joked  about.  Jethro  Bass,  Chairman  of  the  Board  of 
Selectmen ! 

"Well,  here  comes  young  Moses,  I  do  believe,"  said 
Jock,  gathering  his  pegs  into  his  apron  and  preparing 
to  ascend  once  more.  "Callated  he'd  spring  up  pretty 
soon." 

"  Jock,  you  do  talk  foolishly  for  a  man  who  is  able  to 
build  a  church,"  said  Cynthia,  as  she  walked  away.  The 
young  Moses  referred  to  was  Moses  Hatch,  Junior,  son  of 
the  pillar  of  the  Church  and  State,  and  it  was  an  open 
secret  that  he  was  madly  in  love  with  Cynthia.  Let  it  be 
said  of  him  that  he  was  a  steady-going  young  man,  and 
that  he  sighed  for  the  moon. 

"  Moses,"  said  the  girl,  when  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
elms  that  shaded  the  gable  of  the  parsonage,  "what  do 
you  think  of  Jethro  Bass  ?  " 

"Jethro  Bass  I"  exclaimed  honest  Moses,  "whatever 
put  him  into  your  head,  Cynthy  ?  "  Had  she  mentioned, 


8  CONISTON 

perhaps,  any  other  young  man  in  Coniston,  Moses  would 
have  been  eaten  with  jealousy. 

"  Oh,  Jock  was  joking  about  him.  What  do  you  think 
of  him?" 

"  Never  thought  one  way  or  t'other,"  he  answered. 
"  Jethro  never  had  much  to  do  with  the  boys.  He's  always 
in  that  tannery,  or  out  buyin'  of  hides.  He  does  make 
a  sharp  bargain  when  he  buys  a  hide.  We  always  goes 
shares  on  our'n." 

Cynthia  was  not  only  the  minister's  daughter,  —  dis 
tinction  enough,  —  her  reputation  for  learning  was  spread 
through  the  country  roundabout,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty 
she  had  had  an  offer  to  teach  school  in  Harwich.  Once  a 
week  in  summer  she  went  to  Brampton,  to  the  Social 
library  there,  and  sat  at  the  feet  of  that  Miss  Lucretia 
Penniman  of  whom  Brampton  has  ever  been  so  proud  — 
Lucretia  Penniman,  one  of  the  first  to  sound  the  clarion 
note  for  the  intellectual  independence  of  American  women ; 
who  wrote  the  "  Hymn  to  Coniston  "  ;  who,  to  the  awe  of 
her  townspeople,  went  out  into  the  great  world  and  be 
came  editress  of  a  famous  woman's  journal,  and  knew 
Longfellow  and  Hawthorne  and  Bryant.  Miss  Lucretia 
it  was  who  started  the  Brampton  Social  Library,  and  filled  it 
with  such  books  as  both  sexes  might  read  with  profit. 
Never  was  there  a  stricter  index  than  hers.  Cynthia, 
Miss  Lucretia  loved,  and  the  training  of  that  mind  was 
the  pleasantest  task  of  her  life. 

Curiosity  as  a  factor  has  never,  perhaps,  been  given  its 
proper  weight  by  philosophers.  Besides  being  fatal  to  a 
certain  domestic  animal,  as  an  instigating  force  it  has 
brought  joy  and  sorrow  into  the  lives  of  men  and  women, 
and  made  and  marred  careers.  And  curiosity  now  laid 
hold  of  Cynthia  Ware.  Why  in  the  world  she  should  ever 
have  been  curious  about  Jethro  Bass  is  a  mystery  to  many, 
for  the  two  of  them  were  as  far  apart  as  the  poles.  Cynthia, 
of  all  people,  took  to  watching  the  tanner's  son,  and  listen 
ing  to  the  brief  colloquies  he  had  with  other  men  at  Jonah 
Winch's  store,  when  she  went  there  to  buy  things  for 
the  parsonage  ;  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  Jock  had  not 


"  Moses  was  a  steady-going  young  man. " 


10  CONISTON 

been  altogether  wrong,  and  that  there  was  in  the  man 
an  indefinable  but  very  compelling  force.  And  when  a 
woman  begins  to  admit  that  a  man  has  force,  her  curiosity 
usually  increases.  On  one  or  two  of  these  occasions 
Cynthia  had  been  startled  to  find  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her, 
and  though  the  feeling  she  had  was  closely  akin  to  fear, 
she  found  something  distinctly  pleasurable  in  it. 

May  came,  and  the  pools  dried  up,  the  orchards  were 
pink  and  white,  the  birches  and  the  maples  were  all  yellow- 
green  on  the  mountain  side  against  the  dark  pines,  and 
Cynthia  was  driving  the  minister's  gig  to  Brampton. 
Ahead  of  her,  in  the  canon  made  by  the  road  between  the 
great  woods,  strode  an  uncouth  but  powerful  figure — coon- 
skin  cap,  homespun  breeches  tucked  into  boots,  and  all. 
The  gig  slowed  down,  and  Cynthia  began  to  tremble  with 
that  same  delightful  fear.  She  knew  it  must  be  wicked, 
because  she  liked  it  so  much.  Unaccountable  thing  ! 
She  felt  all  akin  to  the  nature  about  her,  and  her  blood 
was  coursing  as  the  sap  rushes  through  a  tree.  She  would 
not  speak  to  him  ;  of  that  she  was  sure,  and  equally  sure 
that  he  would  not  speak  to  her.  The  horse  was  walking 
now,  and  suddenly  Jethro  Bass  faced  around,  and  her 
heart  stood  still. 

"  H-how  be  you,  Cynthy  ?  "  he  said. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Jethro  ?  " 

A  thrush  in  the  woods  began  to  sing  a  hymn,  and  they 
listened.  After  that  a  silence,  save  for  the  notes  of  an 
swering  birds  quickened  by  the  song,  the  minister's  horse 
nibbling  at  the  bushes.  Cynthia  herself  could  not  have 
explained  why  she  lingered.  Suddenly  he  shot  a  ques 
tion  at  her. 

"  Where  be  you  goin'  ?  " 

"To  Brampton,  to  get  Miss  Lucretia  to  change  this 
book,"  and  she  held  it  up  from  her  lap.  It  was  a  very 
large  book. 

"  Wh- what's  it  about  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"Napoleon  Bonaparte." 

"  Who  was  he  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  very  strong  man.     He  began  life  poor  and 


ON   THE  DANGERS   OF  CURIOSITY  11 

unknown,  and  fought  his  way  upward  until  he  conquered 
the  world." 

"  C-conquered  the  world,  did  you  say  ?  Conquered  the 
world  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Jethro  pondered. 

"Guess  there's  somethin'  wrong  about  that  book  — 
somethin'  wrong.  Conquer  the  United  States  ?  " 

Cynthia  smiled.  She  herself  did  not  realize  that  we 
were  not  a  part  of  the  world,  then. 

"  He  conquered  Europe,  where  all  the  kings  and  queena 
are,  and  became  a  king  himself  —  an  emperor." 

"  I  want  to  know !  "  said  Jethro.  "  You  said  he  was  a 
poor  boy  ?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  read  the  book,  Jethro  ?  "  Cynthia  an 
swered.  "  I  am  sure  I  can  get  Miss  Lucretia  to  let  you 
have  it." 

"  Don't  know  as  I'd  understand  it,"  he  demurred. 

"  I'll  try  to  explain  what  you  don't  understand,"  said 
Cynthia,  and  her  heart  gave  a  bound  at  the  very  idea. 

"  Will  you  ?  "  he  said,  looking  at  her  eagerly.  "  Will 
you  ?  You  mean  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered,  and  blushed,  not  knowing 
why.  "I  —  I  must  be  going,"  and  she  gathered  up  the 
reins. 

"  When  will  you  give  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  I'll  stop  at  the  tannery  when  I  come  back  from  Bramp- 
ton,"  she  said,  and  drove  on.  Once  she  gave  a  fleeting 
glance  over  her  shoulder,  and  he  was  still  standing  where 
she  had  left  him. 

When  she  returned,  in  the  yellow  afternoon  light  that 
flowed  over  wood  and  pasture,  he  came  out  of  the  tannery 
door.  Jake  Wheeler  or  Speedy  Bates,  the  journeyman 
tailoress,  from  whom  little  escaped,  could  not  have  said  it 
was  by  design  —  thought  nothing,  indeed,  of  that  part 
of  it. 

"  As  I  live  !  "  cried  Speedy  from  the  window  to  Aunt 
Lucy  Prescott  in  the  bed,  "  if  Cynthy  ain't  givin'  him  a 
book  as  big  as  the  Bible  I  " 


12  CONISTON 

Aunt  Lucy  hoped,  first,  that  it  was  the  Bible,  and  sec 
ond,  that  Jethro  would  read  it.  Aunt  Lucy,  and  Estab 
lished  Church  Coniston  in  general,  believed  in  snatching 
brands  from  the  burning,  and  who  so  deft  as  Cynthia  at 
this  kind  of  snatching!  So  Cynthia  herself  was  a  hypo 
crite  for  once,  and  did  not  know  it.  At  that  time  Jethro's 
sins  were  mostly  of  omission.  As  far  as  rum  was  con 
cerned,  he  was  a  creature  after  Aunt  Lucy's  own  heart, 
for  he  never  touched  it:  true,  gaunt  Deacon  Ira  Perkins, 
tithing-man,  had  once  chided  him  for  breaking  the 
Sabbath —  shooting  at  a  fox. 

To  return  to  the  book.  As  long  as  he  lived,  Jethro 
looked  back  to  the  joy  of  the  monumental  task  of  master 
ing  its  contents.  In  his  mind,  Napoleon  became  a  rough 
Yankee  general  ;  of  the  cities,  villages,  and  fortress  he 
formed  as  accurate  a  picture  as  a  resident  of  Venice  from 
Marco  Polo's  account  of  Tartary.  Jethro  had  learned  to 
read,  after  a  fashion,  to  write,  add,  multiply,  and  divide. 
He  knew  that  George  Washington  and  certain  barefooted 
companions  had  forced  a  proud  Britain  to  her  knees,  and 
much  of  the  warring  in  the  book  took  color  from  Captain 
Timothy  Prescott's  stories  of  General  Stark  and  his  cam 
paigns,  heard  at  Jonah  Winch's  store.  What  Paris  looked 
like,  or  Berlin,  or  the  Hospice  of  St.  Bernard  —  though 
imaged  by  a  winter  Coniston  —  troubled  Jethro  not  at 
all;  the  thing  that  stuck  in  his  mind  was  that  Napoleon 
—  for  a  considerable  time,  at  least — compelled  men  to  do 
his  bidding.  Constitutions  crumble  before  the  Strong. 
Not  that  Jethro  philosophized  about  constitutions.  Exist 
ing  conditions  presented  themselves,  and  it  occurred  to 
him  that  there  were  crevices  in  the  town  system,  and  ways 
into  power  through  the  crevices  for  men  clever  enough  to 
find  them. 

A  week  later,  and  in  these  same  great  woods  on  the  way 
to  Brampton,  Cynthia  overtook  him  once  more.  It  was 
characteristic  of  him  that  he  plunged  at  once  into  the 
subject  uppermost  in  his  mind. 

"Not  a  very  big  place,  this  Corsica  —  not  a  very  big 
place." 


ON  THE  DANGERS  OF  CURIOSITY  13 

"  A  little  island  in  the  Mediterranean,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  Hum.  Country  folks,  the  Bonapartes  —  country 
folks?" 

Cynthia  laughed. 

"  I  suppose  you  might  call  them  so,"  she  said.  "  They 
were  poor,  and  lived  out  of  the  world." 

"  He  was  a  smart  man.  But  he  found  things  goin'  his 
way.  Didn't  have  to  move  'em." 

"Not  at  first,"  she  admitted;  "but  he  had  to  move 
mountains  later.  How  far  have  you  read?" 

"  One  thing  that  helped  him,"  said  Jethro,  in  indirect 
answer  to  this  question,  "  he  got  a  smart  woman  for  his 
wife  —  a  smart  woman." 

Cynthia  looked  down  at  the  reins  in  her  lap,  and  she 
felt  again  that  wicked  stirring  within  her,  —  incredible 
stirring  of  minister's  daughter  for  tanner's  son.  Conis- 
ton  believes,  and  always  will  believe,  that  the  social  bars 
are  strong  enough.  So  Cynthia  looked  down  at  the  reins. 

"  Poor  Josephine !  "  she  said,  "  I  always  wish  he  had  not 
cast  her  off." 

"  C-cast  her  off?  "  said  Jethro.  "  Cast  her  off !  Why 
did  he  do  that?" 

"  After  a  while,  when  he  got  to  be  Emperor,  he  needed 
a  wife  who  would  be  more  useful  to  him.  Josephine  had 
become  a  drag.  He  cared  more  about  getting  on  in  the 
world  than  he  did  about  his  wife." 

Jethro  looked  away  contemplatively. 

"  Wa-wahn't  the  woman  to  blame  any?  "  he  said. 

"  Read  the  book,  and  you'll  see,"  retorted  Cynthia, 
flicking  her  horse,  which  started  at  all  gaits  down  the 
road.  Jethro  stood  in  his  tracks,  staring,  but  this  time 
he  did  not  see  her  face  above  the  hood  of  the  gig.  Pres 
ently  he  trudged  on,  head  downward,  pondering  upon 
another  problem  than  Napoleon's.  Cynthia,  at  length, 
arrived  in  Brampton  Street,  in  a  humor  that  puzzled  the 
good  Miss  Lucretia  sorely. 


CHAPTER   II 

ON  THE   WISDOM  OF   CHARITY 

THE  sun  had  dropped  behind  the  mountain,  leaving 
Coniston  in  amethystine  shadow,  and  the  last  bee  had 
flown  homeward  from  the  apple  blossoms  in  front  of  Aunt 
Lucy  Prescott's  window,  before  Cynthia  returned.  Aunt 
Lucy  was  Cynthia's  grandmother,  and  eighty-nine  years 
of  age.  Still  she  sat  in  her  window  beside  the  lilac  bush, 
lost  in  memories  of  a  stout,  rosy  lass  who  had  followed  a 
stalwart  husband  up  a  broad  river  into  the  wilderness 
some  seventy  years  agone  in  Indian  days  —  Weathersfield 
Massacre  days.  That  lass  was  Aunt  Lucy  herself,  and  in 
just  such  a  May  had  Timothy's  axe  rung  through  the 
Coniston  forest  and  reared  the  log  cabin,  where  six  of  her 
children  were  born.  Likewise  in  review  passed  the  lonely 
months  when  Timothy  was  fighting  behind  his  rugged 
General  Stark  for  that  privilege  more  desirable  to  his 
kind  than  life  —  self-government.  Timothy  Prescott 
would  pull  the  forelock  to  no  man,  would  have  such 
God-fearing  persons  as  he  chose  make  his  laws  for  him. 

Honest  Captain  Timothy  and  his  Stark  heroes,  Aunt 
Lucy  and  her  memories,  have  long  gone  to  rest.  Little 
did  they  dream  of  the  nation  we  have  lived  to  see,  strain 
ing  at  her  constitution  like  a  great  ship  at  anchor  in  a 
gale,  with  funnels  belching  forth  smoke,  and  a  new  race 
of  men  thronging  her  decks  for  the  mastery.  Coniston  is 
there  still  behind  its  mountain,  with  its  rusty  firelocks  and 
its  hillside  graves. 

Cynthia,  driving  back  from  Brampton  in  the  gig,  smiled 
at  Aunt  Lucy  in  the  window,  but  she  did  not  so  much  as 
glance  at  the  tannery  house  farther  on.  The  tannery 

14 


ON  THE  WISDOM   OF  CHARITY  15 

house,  be  it  known,  was  the  cottage  where  Jethro  dwelt, 
and  which  had  belonged  to  Nathan,  his  father  ;  and  the 
tannery  sheds  were  at  some  distance  behind  it,  nearer 
Coniston  Water.  Cynthia  did  not  glance  at  the  tannery 
house,  for  a  wave  of  orthodox  indignation  had  swept  over 
her  :  at  any  rate,  we  may  call  it  so.  In  other  words,  she 
was  angry  with  herself  :  pitied  and  scorned  herself,  if  the 
truth  be  told,  for  her  actions  —  an  inevitable  mood. 

In  front  of  the  minister's  barn  under  the  elms  on  the 
hill  Cynthia  pulled  the  harness  from  the  tired  horse  with 
an  energy  that  betokened  activity  of  mind.  She  was  not 
one  who  shrank  from  self-knowledge,  and  the  question 
put  itself  to  her,  "  Whither  was  this  matter  tending  ? " 
The  fire  that  is  in  strong  men  has  ever  been  a  lure  to 
women;  and  many,  meaning  to  play  with  it,  have  been 
burnt  thereby  since  the  world  began.  But  to  turn  the 
fire  to  some  use,  to  make  the  world  better  for  it  or 
stronger  for  it,  that  were  an  achievement  indeed!  The 
horse  munching  his  hay,  Cynthia  lingered  as  the  light 
fainted  above  the  ridge,  with  the  thought  that  this  might 
be  woman's  province,  and  Miss  Lucretia  Penniman  might 
go  on  leading  her  women  regiments  to  no  avail.  Never 
theless  she  was  angry  with  Jethro,  not  because  of  what 
he  had  said,  but  because  of  what  he  was. 

The  next  day  is  Sunday,  and  there  is  mild  excitement 
in  Coniston.  For  Jethro  Bass,  still  with  the  coonskin  cap, 
but  in  a  brass-buttoned  coat  secretly  purchased  in  Bramp- 
ton,  appeared  at  meeting  I  It  made  no  difference  that  he 
entered  quietly,  and  sat  in  the  rear  slip,  orthodox  Conis 
ton  knew  that  he  was  behind  them  :  good  Mr.  Ware  knew 
it,  and  changed  a  little  his  prayers  and  sermon  :  Cynthia 
knew  it,  grew  hot  and  cold  by  turns  under  her  poke  bon 
net.  Was  he  not  her  brand,  and  would  she  not  get  the 
credit  of  snatching  him?  How  willingly,  then,  would 
she  have  given  up  that  credit  to  the  many  who  coveted  it 
—  if  it  were  a  credit.  Was  Jethro  at  meeting  for  any 
religious  purpose  ? 

Jethro's  importance  to  Coniston  lay  in  his  soul,  and 
that  soul  was  numbered  at  present  ninety  and  ninth. 


"And  sat  in  the  rear  slip." 


16 


ON  THE  WISDOM  OF  CHARITY  17 

When  the  meeting  was  over,  Aunt  Lucy  Prescott  hobbled 
out  at  an  amazing  pace  to  advise  him  to  read  chapter 
seven  of  Matthew,  but  he  had  vanished  :  via  the  horse 
sheds,  if  she  had  known  it,  and  along  Coniston  Water  to 
the  house  by  the  tannery,  where  he  drew  breath  in  a  state 
of  mind  not  to  be  depicted.  He  had  gazed  at  the  back 
of  Cynthia's  poke  bonnet  for  two  hours,  but  he  had  an 
uneasy  feeling  that  he  would  have  to  pay  a  price. 

The  price  was  paid,  in  part,  during  the  next  six  days. 
To  do  Jethro's  importance  absolute  justice,  he  did  inspire 
fear  among  his  contemporaries,  and  young  men  and  women 
did  not  say  much  to  his  face;  what  they  did  say  gave 
them  little  satisfaction.  Grim  Deacon  Ira  stopped  him 
as  he  was  going  to  buy  hides,  and  would  have  prayed  over 
him  if  Jethro  had  waited;  dear  Aunt  Lucy  did  pray,  but 
in  private.  In  six  days  orthodox  Coniston  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  this  ninety  and  ninth  soul  were  better  left 
to  her  who  had  snatched  it,  Cynthia  Ware. 

As  for  Cynthia,  nothing  was  farther  from  her  mind. 
Unchristian  as  was  the  thought,  if  this  thing  she  had 
awakened  could  only  have  been  put  back  to  sleep  again, 
she  would  have  thought  herself  happy.  But  would  she 
have  been  happy?  When  Moses  Hatch  congratulated 
her,  with  more  humor  than  sincerity,  he  received  the 
greatest  scare  of  his  life.  Yet  in  those  days  she  welcomed 
Moses's  society  as  she  never  had  before ;  and  Coniston, 
including  Moses  himself,  began  thinking  of  a  wedding. 

Another  Saturday  came,  and  no  Cynthia  went  to  Bramp- 
ton.  Jethro  may  or  may  not  have  been  on  the  road.  Sun 
day,  and  there  was  Jethro  on  the  back  seat  in  the  meeting 
house  :  Sunday  noon,  over  his  frugal  dinner,  the  minister 
mildly  remonstrates  with  Cynthia  for  neglecting  one  who 
has  shown  signs  of  grace,  citing  certain  failures  of  others 
of  his  congregation  :  Cynthia  turns  scarlet,  leaving  the 
minister  puzzled  and  a  little  uneasy :  Monday,  Miss  Lu 
cre  ti  a  Penniman,  alarmed,  comes  to  Coniston  to  inquire 
after  Cynthia's  health :  Cynthia  drives  back  with  her  as 
far  as  Four  Corners,  talking  literature  and  the  advance 
ment  of  woman  ;  returns  on  foot,  thinking  of  something 


18  CONISTON 

else,  when  she  discerns  a  figure  seated  on  a  log  by  the 
roadside,  bent  as  in  meditation.  There  was  no  going 
back  :  the  thing  to  do  was  to  come  on,  as  unconcernedly  as 
possible,  not  noticing  anything,  —  which  Cynthia  did, — 
not  without  a  little  inward  palpitating  and  curiosity,  for 
which  she  hated  herself  and  looked  the  sterner.  The 
figure  unfolded  itself,  like  a  Jack  from  a  box. 

"  You  say  the  woman  wahn't  any  to  blame  — wahn't  any 
to  blame  ?  " 

The  poke  bonnet  turned  away.  The  shoulders  under  it 
began  to  shake,  and  presently  the  astonished  Jethro  heard 
what  seemed  to  be  faint  peals  of  laughter.  Suddenly  she 
turned  around  to  him,  all  trace  of  laughter  gone. 

"  Why  don't  you  read  the  book  ?  " 

"  So  I  am,"  said  Jethro,  "  so  I  am.  Hain't  come  to  this 
casting-off  yet." 

"  And  you  didn't  look  ahead  to  find  out  ?  "  This  with 
scorn. 

"Never  heard  of  readin'  a  book  in  that  fashion.  I'll 
come  to  it  in  time  —  g-guess  it  won't  run  away." 

Cynthia  stared  at  him,  perhaps  with  a  new  interest  at 
this  plodding  determination.  She  was  not  quite  sure  that 
she  ought  to  stand  talking  to  him  a  third  time  in  these 
woods,  especially  if  the  subject  of  conversation  were  not, 
as  Coniston  thought,  the  salvation  of  his  soul.  But  she 
stayed.  Here  was  a  man  who  could  be  dealt  with  by  no 
known  rules,  who  did  not  even  deign  to  notice  a  week  of 
marked  coldness. 

"  Jethro,"  she  said,  with  a  terrifying  sternness,  "  I  am 
going  to  ask  you  a  question,  and  you  must  answer  me 
truthfully." 

"G-guess  I  won't  find  any  trouble  about  that,"  said 
Jethro,  apparently  not  in  the  least  terrified. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  why  you  are  going  to  meeting.*' 

"  To  see  you,"  said  Jethro,  promptly,  "  to  see  you." 

"  Don't  you  know  that  that  is  wrong  ?  " 

"  H-hadn't  thought  much  about  it,"  answered  Jethro. 

"  Well,  you  should  think  about  it.  People  don't  go  to 
meeting  to  —  to  look  at  other  people." 


ON  THE   WISDOM  OF  CHARITY  19 

"  Thought  they  did"  said  Jethro.  "  W-why  do  they 
wear  their  best  clothes  —  why  do  they  wear  their  best 
clothes  ?  " 

"  To  honor  God,"  said  Cynthia,  with  a  shade  lacking 
in  the  conviction,  for  she  added  hurriedly  :  "  It  isn't 
right  for  you  to  go  to  church  to  see  —  anybody.  You  go 
there  to  hear  the  Scriptures  expounded,  and  to  have  your 
sins  forgiven.  Because  I  lent  you  that  book,  and  you 
come  to  meeting,  people  think  I'm  converting  you." 

"  So  you  be,"  replied  Jethro,  and  this  time  it  was  he 
who  smiled,  "  so  you  be." 

Cynthia  turned  away,  her  lips  pressed  together.  How 
to  deal  with  such  a  man !  Wondrous  notes  broke  on  the 
stillness,  the  thrush  was  singing  his  hymn  again,  only 
now  it  seemed  a  paean.  High  in  the  azure  a  hawk 
wheeled,  and  floated. 

"  Couldn't  you  see  I  was  very  angry  with  you  ?  " 

"S-saw  you  was  goin'  with  Moses  Hatch  more  than 
common." 

Cynthia  drew  breath  sharply.  This  was  audacity  — 
and  yet  she  liked  it. 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  Moses,"  she  said  quickly. 

"  You  always  was  charitable,  Cynthy,"  said  he. 

"  Haven't  I  been  charitable  to  you  ?  "  she  retorted. 

"  G-guess  it  has  be'n  charity,"  said  Jethro.  He  looked 
down  at  her  solemnly,  thoughtfully,  no  trace  of  anger  in 
his  face,  turned,  and  without  another  word  strode  off  in 
the  direction  of  Coniston  Flat. 

He  left  a  tumultuous  Cynthia,  amazement  and  repent 
ance  struggling  with  anger,  which  forbade  her  calling  him 
back  :  pride  in  her  answering  to  pride  in  him,  and  she 
rejoicing  fiercely  that  he  had  pride.  Had  he  but  known 
it,  every  step  he  took  away  from  her  that  evening  was  a 
step  in  advance,  and  she  gloried  in  the  fact  that  he  did 
not  once  look  back.  As  she  walked  toward  Coniston, 
the  thought  came  to  her  that  she  was  rid  of  the 
thing  she  had  stirred  up,  perhaps  forever,  and  the  thrush 
burst  into  his  song  once  more. 


20  CONISTON 

That  night,  after  Cynthia's  candle  had  gone  out,  when 
the  minister  sat  on  his  doorsteps  looking  at  the  glory  of 
the  moon  on  the  mountain  forest,  he  was  startled  by  the 
sight  of  a  figure  slowly  climbing  toward  him  up  the  slope. 
A  second  glance  told  him  that  it  was  Jethro's.  Vaguely 
troubled,  he  watched  his  approach  ;  for  good  Priest  Ware, 
while  able  to  obey  one-half  the  scriptural  injunction,  had 
not  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent,  and  women,  as  typified  by 
Cynthia,  were  a  continual  puzzle  to  him.  That  very 
evening,  Moses  Hatch  had  called,  had  been  received  with 
more  favor  than  usual,  and  suddenly  packed  off  about  his 
business.  Seated  in  the  moonlight,  the  minister  wondered 
vaguely  whether  Jethro  Bass  were  troubling  the  girl. 
And  now  Jethro  stood  before  him,  holding  out  a  book. 
Rising,  Mr.  Ware  bade  him  good  evening,  mildly  and 
cordially. 

"  C-come  to  leave  this  book  for  Cynthy,"  said  Jethro. 

Mr.  Ware  took  it,  mechanically. 

"  Have  you  finished  it  ?  "  he  asked  kindly. 

"All  I  want,"  replied  Jethro,  "all  I  want." 

He  turned,  and  went  down  the  slope.  Twice  the  words 
rose  to  the  minister's  lips  to  call  him  back,  and  were  sup 
pressed.  Yet  what  to  say  to  him  if  he  came  ?  Mr.  Ware 
sat  down  again,  sadly,  wondering  why  Jethro  Bass  should 
be  so  difficult  to  talk  to. 

The  parsonage  was  of  only  one  story,  with  a  steep, 
sloping  roof.  On  the  left  of  the  doorway  was  Cynthia's 
room,  and  the  minister  imagined  he  heard  a  faint,  rustling 
noise  at  her  window.  Presently  he  arose,  barred  the  door ; 
could  be  heard  moving  around  in  his  room  for  a  while, 
and  after  that  all  was  silence  save  for  the  mournful  crying 
of  a  whippoorwill  in  the  woods.  Then  a  door  opened 
softly,  a  white  vision  stole  into  the  little  entry  lighted  by 
the  fan-window  above,  seized  the  book  and  stole  back. 
Had  the  minister  been  a  prying  man  about  his  household, 
he  would  have  noticed  next  day  that  Cynthia's  candle  was 
burned  down  to  the  socket.  He  saw  nothing  of  the  kind: 
he  saw,  in  fact,  that  his  daughter  flitted  about  the  house 
singing,  and  he  went  out  into  the  sun  to  drop  potatoes. 


ON   THE  WISDOM  OF  CHAEITY  21 

No  sooner  had  he  reached  the  barn  than  this  singing 
ceased.  But  how  was  Mr.  Ware  to  know  that  ? 

Twice  Cynthia,  during  the  week  that  followed,  got  half 
way  down  the  slope  of  the  parsonage  hill,  the  book  under 
her  arm,  on  her  way  to  the  tannery ;  twice  went  back,  tears 
of  humiliation  and  self-pity  in  her  eyes  at  the  thought  that 
she  should  make  advances  to  a  man,  and  that  man  the 
tanner's  son.  Her  household  work  done,  a  longing  for 
further  motion  seized  her,  and  she  walked  out  under  the 
maples  of  the  village  street.  Let  it  be  understood  that 
Coniston  was  a  village,  by  courtesy,  and  its  shaded  road 
a  street.  Suddenly,  there  was  the  tannery,  Jethro  stand 
ing  in  front  of  it,  contemplative.  Did  he  see  her?  Would 
he  come  to  her?  Cynthia,  seized  by  a  panic  of  shame, 
flew  into  Aunt  Lucy  Prescott's,  sat  through  half  an  hour 
of  torture  while  Aunt  Lucy  talked  of  redemption  of  sin 
ners,  during  ten  minutes  of  which  Jethro  stood,  still  con 
templative.  What  tumult  was  in  Ms  breast,  or  whether 
there  was  any  tumult,  Cynthia  knew  not.  He  went  into 
the  tannery  again,  and  though  she  saw  him  twice  later  in 
the  week,  he  gave  no  sign  of  seeing  her. 

On  Saturday  Cynthia  bought  a  new  bonnet  in  Bramp- 
ton ;  Sunday  morning  put  it  on,  suddenly  remembered 
that  one  went  to  church  to  honor  God,  and  wore  her 
old  one  ;  walked  to  meeting  in  a  flutter  of  expectancy 
not  to  be  denied,  and  would  have  looked  around  had 
that  not  been  a  cardinal  sin  in  Coniston.  No  Jethro! 
General  opinion  (had  she  waited  to  hear  it  among  the 
horse  sheds  or  on  the  green),  that  Jethro's  soul  had  slid 
back  into  the  murky  regions,  from  which  it  were  folly  for 
even  Cynthia  to  try  to  drag  it. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  CLERK  AND  THE  LOCKET 

To  prove  that  Jethro's  soul  had  not  slid  back  into  the 
murky  regions,  and  that  it  was  still  indulging  in  flights, 
it  is  necessary  to  follow  him  (for  a  very  short  space)  to 
Boston.  Jethro  himself  went  in  Lyman  Hull's  six-horse 
team  with  a  load  of  his  own  merchandise  —  hides  that  he 
had  tanned,  and  other  country  produce.  And  they  did 
not  go  by  the  way  of  Truro  Pass  to  the  Capital,  but 
took  the  state  turnpike  over  the  ranges,  where  you  can 
see  for  miles  and  miles  and  miles  on  a  clear  summer  day 
across  the  trembling  floors  of  the  forest  tops  to  lonely  sen 
tinel  mountains  fourscore  miles  away, 

No  one  takes  the  state  turnpike  nowadays  except  crazy 
tourists  who  are  willing  to  risk  their  necks  and  their 
horses'  legs  for  the  sake  of  scenery.  The  tough  little 
Morgans  of  that  time,  which  kept  their  feet  like  cats,  have 
all  but  disappeared,  but  there  were  places  on  that  road  where 
Lyman  Hull  put  the  shoes  under  his  wheels  for  four 
miles  at  a  stretch.  He  was  not  a  companion  many  people 
would  have  chosen  with  whom  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of 
such  a  trip,  and  nearly  everybody  in  Coniston  was  afraid 
of  him.  Jethro  Bass  would  sit  silent  on  the  seat 
for  hours  and  it  is  a  fact  to  be  noted  that  when 
he  told  Lyman  to  do  a  thing,  Lyman  did  it;  not,  per 
haps,  without  cursing  and  grumbling.  Lyman  was  a  pro 
fane  and  wicked  man  —  drover,  farmer,  trader,  anything. 
He  had  a  cider  mill  on  his  farm  on  the  south  slopes  of 
Coniston  which  Mr.  Ware  had  mentioned  in  his  sermons, 
and  which  was  the  resort  of  the  ungodly.  The  cider  was 
not  so  good  as  Squire  Northcutt's,  but  cheaper.  Jethro 

22 


THE   CLEKK  AND  THE  LOCKET  23 

was  not  afraid  of  Lyman,  and  he  had  a  mortgage  on  the 
six-horse  team,  and  on  the  farm  and  the  cider  mill. 

After  six  days,  Jethro  and  Lyman  drove  over  Charles- 
town  bridge  and  into  the  crooked  streets  of  Boston,  and 
at  length  arrived  at  a  drover' s  hotel,  or  lodging-house  that 
did  not,  we  may  be  sure,  front  on  Mount  Vernon  Street  or 
face  the  Mall.  Lyman  proceeded  to  get  drunk,  and  Jethro 
to  sell  the  hides  and  other  merchandise  which  Lyman  had 
hauled  for  him. 

There  was  a  young  man  in  Boston,  when  Jethro  arrived 
in  Lyman  Hull 's  team,  named  William  Wetherell.  By  ex 
traordinary  circumstances  he  and  another  connected  with 
him  are  to  take  no  small  part  in  this  story,  which  is  a  suffi 
cient  excuse  for  his  introduction.  His  father  had  been  a 
prosperous  Portsmouth  merchant  in  the  West  India  trade, 
a  man  of  many  attainments,  who  had  failed  and  died  of  a 
broken  heart;  and  William,  at  two  and  twenty,  was  a  clerk 
in  the  little  jewellery  shop  of  Mr.  Judson  in  Cornhill. 

William  Wetherell  had  literary  aspirations,  and  sat 
from  morning  till  night  behind  the  counter,  reading  and 
dreaming  :  dreaming  that  he  was  to  be  an  Irving  or  a 
Walter  Scott,  and  yet  the  sum  total  of  his  works  in  after 
years  consisted  of  some  letters  to  the  Newcastle  Guardian, 
and  a  beginning  of  the  Town  History  of  Coniston! 

William  had  a  contempt  for  the  awkward  yoi^ng  coun 
tryman  who  suddenly  loomed  up  before  him  that  sum 
mer's  morning  across  the  counter.  But  a  moment  before 
the  clerk  had  been  in  a  place  where  he  would  fain  have 
lingered  —  a  city  where  blue  waters  flow  swiftly  between 
white  palaces  toward  the  sunrise. 

"  And  I  have  fitted  up  some  chambers  there 
Looking  toward  the  golden  Eastern  air, 
And  level  with  the  living  winds,  which  flow 
Like  waves  above  the  living  waves  below." 

Little  did  William  Wetherell  guess,  when  he  glanced 
up  at  the  intruder,  that  he  was  looking  upon  one  of  the 
forces  of  his  own  life!  The  countryman  wore  a  blue 
swallow-tail  coat  (fashioned  by  the  hand  of  Speedy 


24  CONISTON 

Bates),  a  neck-cloth,  a  coonskin  cap,  and  his  trousers  were 
tucked  into  rawhide  boots.  He  did  not  seem  a  promising 
customer  for  expensive  jewellery,  and  the  literary  clerk 
did  not  rise,  but  merely  closed  his  book  with  his  thumb 
in  it. 

"  S-sell  things  here,"  asked  the  countryman,  "  s-sell 
things  here  ?" 

"Occasionally,  when  folks  have  money  to  buy  them." 

"  My  name's  Jethro  Bass,"  said  the  countryman,  "  Jethro 
Bass  from  Coniston.  Ever  hear  of  Coniston?" 

Young  Mr.  Wetherell  never  had,  but  many  years  after 
ward  he  remembered  his  name,  heaven  knows  why. 
Jethro  Bass !  Perhaps  it  had  a  strange  ring  to  it. 

"  F-folks  told  me  to  be  careful,"  was  Jethro's  next 
remark.  He  did  not  look  at  the  clerk,  but  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  things  within  the  counter. 

"  Somebody  ought  to  have  come  with  you,"  said  the 
clerk,  with  a  smile  of  superiority. 

"  D-don't  know  much  about  city  ways." 

"  Well,"  said  the  clerk,  beginning  to  be  amused,  "a  man 
has  to  keep  his  wits  about  him." 

Even  then  Jethro  spared  him  a  look,  but  continued  to 
study  the  contents  of  the  case. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Bass  ?  We  have  some 
really  good  things  here.  For  example,  this  Swiss  watch, 
which  I  will  sell  you  cheap,  for  one  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars." 

"  One  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  —  er  —  one  hundred 
and  fifty?" 

Wetherell  nodded.  Still  the  countryman  did  not  look 
up. 

"  F-folks  told  me  to  be  careful,"  he  repeated  without  a 
smile.  He  was  looking  at  the  lockets,  and  finally  pointed 
a  large  finger  at  one  of  them  —  the  most  expensive,  by 
the  way.  "  W-what  d'ye  get  for  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Twenty  dollars,"  the  clerk  promptly  replied.  Thirty 
was  nearer  the  price,  but  what  did  it  matter. 

"  H-how  much  for  that  ?  "  he  said,  pointing  to  another. 
The  clerk  told  him.  He  inquired  about  them  all,  deliber- 


25 

ately  repeating  the  sums,  considering  with  so  well -feigned 
an  air  of  a  purchaser  that  Mr.  Wetherell  began  to  take  a 
real  joy  in  the  situation.  For  trade  was  slack  in  August, 
and  diversion  scarce.  Finally  he  commanded  that  the  case 
be  put  on  the  top  of  the  counter,  and  Wetherell  humored 
him.  Whereupon  he  picked  up  the  locket  he  had  first 
chosen.  It  looked  very  delicate  in  his  huge,  rough  hand, 
and  Wetherell  was  surprised  that  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Bass 
had  been  caught  by  the  most  expensive,  for  it  was  far 
from  being  the  showiest. 

"  T-twenty  dollars  ?  "  he  asked. 

44  We  may  as  well  call  it  that,"  laughed  Wetherell. 

41  It's  not  too  good  for  Cynthy,"  he  said. 

44  Nothing's  too  good  for  Cynthy,"  answered  Mr.  Wether 
ell,  mockingly,  little  knowing  how  he  might  come  to 
mean  it. 

Jethro  Bass  paid  no  attention  to  this  speech.  Pulling 
a  great  cowhide  wallet  from  his  pocket,  still  holding  the 
locket  in  his  hand,  to  the  amazement  of  the  clerk  he 
counted  out  twenty  dollars  and  laid  them  down. 

44  G-guess  I'll  take  that  one,  g-guess  I'll  take  that  one," 
he  said. 

Then  he  looked  at  Mr.  Wetherell  for  the  first  time. 

44  Hold  I "  cried  the  clerk,  more  alarmed  than  he  cared 
to  show,  44  that's  not  the  price.  Did  you  think  I  could 
sell  it  for  that  price  ?  " 

44  W-wahn't  that  the  price  you  fixed  ?  " 

44  You  simpleton  I "  retorted  Wetherell,  with  a  convic 
tion  now  that  he  was  calling  him  the  wrong  name.  44  Give 
me  back  the  locket,  and  you  shall  have  your  money  again." 

44  W-wahn't  that  the  price  you  fixed  ?" 

44  Yes,  but  —  " 

44  G-guess  I'll  keep  the  locket  —  g-guess  I'll  keep  the 
locket." 

Wetherell  looked  at  him  aghast,  and  there  was  no  doubt 
about  his  determination.  With  a  sinking  heart  the  clerk 
realized  that  he  should  have  to  make  good  to  Mr.  Judson 
the  seven  odd  dollars  of  difference,  and  then  he  lost  his 
head.  Slipping  round  the  counter  to  the  door  of  the  shop, 


26  CONISTON 

he  turned  the  key,  thrust  it  in  his  pocket,  and  faced  Mr. 
Bass  again  —  from  behind  the  counter. 

"  You  don't  leave  this  shop,"  cried  the  clerk,  "  until  you 
give  me  back  that  locket." 

Jethro  Bass  turned.  A  bench  ran  along  the  farther 
wall,  and  there  he  planted  himself  without  a  word,  while 
the  clerk  stared  at  him,  —  with  what  feelings  of  uneasiness 
I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe,  —  for  the  customer  was 
plainly  determined  to  wait  until  hunger  should  drive  one 
of  them  forth.  The  minutes  passed,  and  Wetherell  began 
to  hate  him.  Then  some  one  tried  the  door,  peered  in 
through  the  glass,  perceived  Jethro,  shook  the  knob, 
knocked  violently,  all  to  no  purpose.  Jethro  seemed  lost 
in  a  re  very. 

"  This  has  gone  far  enough,"  said  the  clerk,  trying  to 
keep  his  voice  from  shaking  ;  "  it  is  beyond  a  joke.  Give 
me  back  the  locket."  And  he  tendered  Jethro  the  money 
again. 

"  W-wahn't  that  the  price  you  fixed  ?  "  asked  Jethro, 
innocently. 

Wetherell  choked.  The  man  outside  shook  the  door 
again,  and  people  on  the  sidewalk  stopped,  and  presently 
against  the  window-panes  a  sea  of  curious  faces  gazed 
in  upon  them.  Mr.  Bass's  thoughts  apparently  were  fixed 
on  Eternity  —  he  looked  neither  at  the  people  nor  at 
Wetherell.  And  then,  the  crowd  parting  as  for  one  in 
authority,  as  in  a  bad  dream  the  clerk  saw  his  employer, 
Mr.  Judson,  courteously  pushing  away  the  customer  at  the 
door  who  would  not  be  denied.  Another  moment,  and 
Mr.  Judson  had  gained  admittance  with  his  private  key, 
and  stood  on  the  threshold  staring  at  clerk  and  customer. 
Jethro  gave  no  sign  that  the  situation  had  changed. 

"William,"  said  Mr.  Judson,  in  a  dangerously  quiet 
voice,  "  perhaps  you  can  explain  this  extraordinary  state 

p        fv»     •          11 

of  anairs. 

"  I  can,  sir,"  William  cried.  "  This  gentleman"  (the 
word  stuck  in  his  throat),  "  this  gentleman  came  in  here 
to  examine  lockets  which  I  had  no  reason  to  believe  he 
would  buy.  I  admit  my  fault,  sir.  He  asked  the  price 


"  '  It's  not  too  good  for  Cyn»hy 


27 


28  CONISTON 

of  the  most  expensive,  and  i  told  him  twenty  dollars, 
merely  for  a  jest,  sir."  William  hesitated. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Mr.  Judson. 

"  After  pricing  every  locket  in  the  case,  he  seized  the 
first  one,  handed  me  twenty  dollars,  and  now  refuses  to 
give  it  up,  although  he  knows  the  price  is  twenty-seven." 

"Then?" 

"  Then  I  locked  the  door,  sir.  He  sat  down  there,  and 
hasn't  moved  since." 

Mr.  Judson  looked  again  at  Mr.  Bass,  this  time  with 
unmistakable  interest.  The  other  customer  began  to  laugh, 
and  the  crowd  was  pressing  in,  and  Mr.  Judson  turned  and 
shut  the  door  in  their  faces.  All  this  time  Mr.  Bass  had 
not  moved,  not  so  much  as  to  lift  his  head  or  shift  one  of 
his  great  cowhide  boots. 

"  Well,  sir,"  demanded  Mr.  Judson,  "  what  have  you  to 
say?" 

"N-nothin'.  G-guess  I'll  keep  the  locket.  I've  paid 
for  it  —  I've  paid  for  it." 

"And  you  are  aware,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Judson, 
"  that  my  clerk  has  given  you  the  wrong  price  ?  " 

"  Guess  that's  his  1-lookout."  He  still  sat  there,  dog 
gedly  unconcerned. 

A  bull  would  have  seemed  more  at  home  in  a  china- 
shop  than  Jethro  Bass  in  a  jewellery  store.  But  Mr. 
Judson  himself  was  a  man  out  of  the  ordinary,  and  instead 
of  getting  angry  he  began  to  be  more  interested. 

"  Took  you  for  a  greenhorn,  did  he  ?  "  he  remarked. 

"F-folks  told  me  to  be  careful  —  to  be  careful,"  said 
Mr.  Bass. 

Then  Mr.  Judson  laughed.  It  was  all  the  more  dis- 
*  concerting  to  William  Wetherell,  because  his  employer 
laughed  rarely.  He  laid  his  hand  on  Jethro's  shoulder. 

"  He  might  have  spared  himself  the  trouble,  my  young 
friend,"  he  said.  "  You  didn't  expect  to  find  a  greenhorn 
behind  a  jewellery  counter,  did  you  ?  " 

"  S-surprised  me  some,"  said  Jethro. 

Mr.  Judson  laughed  again,  all  the  while  looking  at 
him. 


THE  CLERK  AND  THE  LOCKET      29 

"  I  am  going  to  let  you  keep  the  locket,"  he  said, 
"  because  it  will  teach  my  greenhorn  a  lesson.  William, 
do  you  hear  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  William  said,  and  his  face  was  very  red. 

Mr.  Bass  rose  solemnly,  apparently  unmoved  by  his 
triumph  in  a  somewhat  remarkable  transaction,  and 
William  long  remembered  how  he  towered  over  all  of 
them.  He  held  the  locket  out  to  Mr.  Judson,  who  stared 
at  it,  astonished. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  said  that  gentleman;  "  you  don't  want 
it?" 

"  Guess  I'll  have  it  marked,"  said  Jethro,  "  ef  it  don't 
cost  extry." 

"  Marked  I  "  gasped  Mr.  Judson,  "  marked  I  " 

"  Ef  it  don't  cost  extry,"  Jethro  repeated. 

"Well,  I'll  — "  exclaimed  Mr.  Judson,  and  suddenly 
recalled  the  fact  that  he  was  a  church  member.  "  What 
inscription  do  you  wish  put  into  it  ?  "  he  asked,  recovering 
himself  with  an  effort. 

Jethro  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  again  the 
cowhide  wallet  came  out.  He  tendered  Mr.  Judson  a 
somewhat  soiled  piece  of  paper,  and  Mr.  Judson  read :  — 

"  Cynthy,  from  Jethro11 

"Cynthy,11  Mr.  Judson  repeated,  in  a  tremulous  voice, 
"Cynthy,  not  Cynthia." 

"  H-how  is  it  written,"  said  Jethro,  leaning  over  it, 
"  h-how  is  it  written  ?  " 

"  Cynthy,11  answered  Mr.  Judson,  involuntarily. 

"Then  make  it  Cynthy — make  it  Cynthy.11 

"  Cynthy  it  shall  be,"  said  Mr.  Judson,  with  conviction. 

"  When'll  you  have  it  done  ?  " 

"  To-night,"  replied  Mr.  Judson,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  "  to-night,  as  a  special  favor." 

"  What  time  —  w-what  time  ?  " 

"Seven  o'clock,  sir.  May  I  send  it  to  your  hotel? 
The  Tremont  House,  I  suppose  ? " 

"I  —  I'll  call,"  said  Jethro,  so  solemnly  that  Mr.  Jud- 
eon  kept  his  laughter  until  he  was  gone. 


30  CONISTON 

From  the  door  they  watched  him  silently  as  he  strode 
across  the  street  and  turned  the  corner.  Then  Mr.  Judson 
turned.  "That  man  will  make  his  mark,  William,"  he 
said ;  and  added  thoughtfully,  "  but  whether  for  good  or 
evil,  I  know  not." 


CHAPTER  IV 

ENTER  A  GREAT  MAN,   INCOGNITO 

WHAT  Cynthia  may  have  thought  or  felt  during  Jethro's 
absence  in  Boston,  and  for  some  months  thereafter,  she 
kept  to  herself.  Honest  Moses  Hatch  pursued  his  courting 
untroubled,  and  never  knew  that  he  had  a  rival.  Moses 
would  as  soon  have  questioned  the  seasons  or  the  weather 
as  Cynthia's  changes  of  moods,  —  which  were  indeed  the 
weather  for  him,  and  when  storms  came  he  sat  with  his 
back  to  them,  waiting  for  the  sunshine.  He  had  long 
ceased  proposing  marriage,  in  the  firm  belief  that 
Cynthia  would  set  the  day  in  her  own  good  time.  Thereby 
he  was  saved  much  suffering. 

The  summer  flew  on  apace,  for  Coniston.  Fragrant  hay 
was  cut  on  hillsides  won  from  rock  and  forest,  and  Conis 
ton  Water  sang  a  gentler  melody  —  save  when  the  clouds 
floated  among  the  spruces  on  the  mountain  and  the  rain 
beat  on  the  shingles.  During  the  still  days  before  the 
turn  of  the  year,  —  days  of  bending  fruit  boughs,  crab- 
apples  glistening  red  in  the  soft  sunlight,  —  rumor  came 
from  Brampton  to  wrinkle  the  forehead  of  Moses  Hatch 
as  he  worked  among  his  father's  orchards. 

The  rumor  was  of  a  Mr.  Isaac  Dudley  Worthington,  a 
name  destined  to  make  much  rumor  before  it  was  to  be 
carved  on  the  marble.  Isaac  D.  Worthington,  indeed, 
might  by  a  stretch  of  the  imagination  be  called  the  pioneer 
of  all  the  genus  to  be  known  in  the  future  as  City  Folks, 
who  were,  two  generations  later,  to  invade  the  country 
like  a  devouring  army  of  locusts. 

At  that  time  a  stranger  in  Brampton  was  enough  to  set 
the  town  agog.  But  a  young  man  of  three  and  twenty, 

31 


32  CONISTON 

with  an  independent  income  of  four  hundred  dollars  a 
year  !  —  or  any  income  at  all  not  derived  from  his  own 
labor  —  was  unheard  of.  It  is  said  that  when  the  stage 
from  over  Truro  Gap  arrived  in  Brampton  Street  a 
hundred  eyes  gazed  at  him  unseen,  from  various  ambushes, 
and  followed  him  up  the  walk  to  Silas  Wheelock's,  where 
he  was  to  board.  In  half  an  hour  Brampton  knew  the 
essentials  of  Isaac  Worthington's  story,  and  Sam  Price 
was  on  his  way  with  it  to  Coniston  for  distribution  at 
Jonah  Winch's  store. 

Young  Mr.  Worthington  was  from  Boston — no  less  ; 
slim,  pale,  medium  height,  but  with  an  alert  look,  and  a 
high-bridged  nose.  B  ut  his  clothes  !  Sam  Price's  vocabu 
lary  was  insufficient  here,  they  were  cut  in  such  a  way, 
and  Mr.  Worthington  was  downright  distinguished-looking 
under  his  gray  beaver.  Why  had  he  come  to  Brampton  ? 
demanded  Deacon  Ira  Perkins.  Sam  had  saved  this  for 
the  last.  Young  Mr.  Worthington  was  threatened  with 
consumption,  and  had  been  sent  to  live  with  his  distant 
relative,  Silas  Wheelock. 

The  presence  of  a  gentleman  of  leisure  —  although 
threatened  with  consumption  —  became  an  all-absorbing 
topic  in  two  villages  and  three  hamlets,  and  more  than 
one  swain,  hitherto  successful,  felt  the  wind  blow  colder. 
But  in  a  fortnight  it  was  known  that  a  petticoat  did  not 
make  Isaac  Worthington  even  turn  his  head.  Curiosity 
centred  on  Silas  Wheelock's  barn,  where  Mr.  Worthing 
ton  had  fitted  up  a  shop,  and  presently  various  strange 
models  of  contrivances  began  to  take  shape  there.  What 
these  were,  Silas  himself  knew  not ;  and  the  gentleman  of 
leisure  was,  alas  !  close-mouthed.  When  he  was  not  saw 
ing  and  hammering  and  planing,  he  took  long  walks  up 
and  down  Coniston  Water,  and  was  surprised  deep  in 
thought  at  several  places. 

Nathan  Bass's  story-and-a-half  house,  devoid  of  paint, 
faced  the  road,  and  behind  it  was  the  shed,  or  barn,  that 
served  as  the  tannery,  and  between  the  tannery  and  Con 
iston  Water  were  the  vats.  The  rain  flew  in  silvery 
spray,  and  the  drops  shone  like  jewels  on  the  coat  of  a 


'Mr.  Worthlngton  was  downright  distinguished-looking  under  his 
gray  beaver." 


38 


34  CONISTON 

young  man  who  stood  looking  in  at  the  tannery  door. 
Young  Jake  Wheeler,  son  of  the  village  spendthrift,  was 
driving  a  lean  white  horse  round  in  a  ring :  to  the  horse 
was  attached  a  beam,  and  on  the  beam  a  huge  round  stone 
rolled  on  a  circular  oak  platform.  Jethro  Bass,  who  was 
engaged  in  pushing  hemlock  bark  under  the  stone  to  be 
crushed,  straightened.  Of  the  three,  the  horse  had  seen 
the  visitor  first,  and  stopped  in  his  tracks. 

"  Jethro  !  "  whispered  Jake,  tingling  with  an  excite 
ment  that  was  but  natural.  Jethro  had  begun  to  sweep 
the  finer  pieces  of  bark  toward  the  centre.  "It's  the 
city  man,  walked  up  here  from  Brampton." 

It  was  indeed  Mr.  Worthington,  slightly  more  sun 
burned  and  less  citified-looking  than  on  his  arrival,  and 
he  wore  a  woollen  cap  of  Brampton  make.  Even  then, 
despite  his  wavy  hair  and  delicate  appearance,  Isaac 
Worthington  had  the  hawklike  look  which  became  famous 
in  later  years,  and  at  length  he  approached  Jethro  and 
fixed  his  eye  upon  him. 

"  Kind  of  slow  work,  isn't  it  ?  "  remarked  Mr.  Worth 
ington. 

The  white  horse  was  the  only  one  to  break  the  silence 
that  followed,  by  sneezing  with  all  his  might. 

"  How  is  the  tannery  business  in  these  parts  ?  "  essayed 
Mr.  Worthington  again. 

"  Thinkin'  of  it  ?  "  said  Jethro.  "  T-thinkin'  of  it,  be 
you?" 

"  No,"  answered  Mr.  Worthington,  hastily.  "  If  I 
were,"  he  added,  "  I'd  put  in  new  machinery.  That  horse 
and  stone  is  primitive." 

"  What  kind  of  machinery  would  you  put  in  ?  "  asked 
Jethro. 

"  Ah,"  answered  Worthington,  "  that  will  interest  you. 
All  New  Englauders  are  naturally  progressive,  I  take  it." 

"  W-what  was  it  you  took  ?  " 

"  I  was  merely  remarking  on  the  enterprise  of  New 
Englanders,"  said  Worthington,  flushing.  "  On  my  jour 
ney  up  here,  beside  the  Merrimac,  I  had  the  opportunity  to 
inspect  the  new  steam-boiler,  the  fulling-mill,  the  splitting- 


ENTER  A  GREAT  MAN,  INCOGNITO  35 

machine,  and  other  remarkable  improvements.  In  fact, 
these  suggested  one  or  two  little  things  to  me,  which 
might  be  of  interest  to  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Jethro,  "  they  might,  and  then  again  they 
mightn't.  Guess  it  depends." 

"  Depends  !  "  exclaimed  the  man  of  leisure,  "  depends  on 
what?" 

"H-how  much  you  know  about  it." 

Young  Mr.  Worthington,  instead  of  being  justly  indig 
nant,  laughed  and  settled  himself  comfortably  on  a  pile  of 
bark.  He  thought  Jethro  a  character,  and  he  was  not  mis 
taken.  On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Worthington  displayed  a 
knowledge  of  the  fulling-mill  and  splitting-machine  and 
the  process  of  tanneries  in  general  that  was  surprising. 
Jethro,  had  Mr.  Worthington  but  known  it,  was  more 
interested  in  animate  machines  :  more  interested  in  Mr. 
Worthington  than  the  fulling-mill  or,  indeed,  the  tannery 
business. 

At  length  the  visitor  fell  silent,  his  sense  of  superiority 
suddenly  gone.  Others  had  had  this  same  feeling  with 
Jethro,  even  the  minister ;  but  the  man  of  leisure  (who 
was  nothing  of  the  sort)  merely  felt  a  kind  of 
bewilderment. 

"  Callatin'  to  live  in  Brampton — be  you  ?"  asked  Jethra. 

"  I  am  living  there  now." 

"  C-callatin'  to  set  up  a  mill  some  day  ?  " 

Mr.  Worthington  fairly  leaped  off  the  bark  pile. 

"  What  makes  you  say  that  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  G-guesswork,"  said  Jethro,  starting  to  shovel  again, 
*'  g-guesswork." 

To  take  a  walk  in  the  wild,  to  come  upon  a  bumpkin  in 
cowhide  boots  crushing  bark,  to  have  him  read  within 
twenty  minutes  a  cherished  and  well-hidden  ambition  which 
Brampton  had  not  discovered  in  a  month  (and  did  not 
discover  for  many  years)  was  sufficiently  startling.  Well 
might  Mr.  Worthington  tremble  for  his  other  ambitions, 
and  they  were  many. 

Jethro  stepped  out,  passing  Mr.  Worthington  as  though 
he  had  already  forgotten  that  gentleman's  existence,  and 


36  CONISTON 

seized  an  armful  of  bark  that  lay  under  cover  of  a  lean-to. 
Just  then,  heralded  by  a  brightening  of  the  western  sky, 
a  girl  appeared  down  the  road,  her  head  bent  a  little  as 
in  thought,  and  if  she  saw  the  group  by  the  tannery  house 
she  gave  no  sign.  Two  of  them  stared  at  her  —  Jake 
Wheeler  and  Mr.  Worthington.  Suddenly  Jake,  iinplike, 
turned  and  stared  at  Worthington. 

"  Cynthy  Ware,  the  minister's   daughter,"   he  said. 

"Haven't  I  seen  her  in  Brampton?"  inquired  Mr. 
Worthington,  little  thinking  of  the  consequences  of  the 
question. 

"  Guess  you  have,"  answered  Jake.  "  Cynthy  goes  to 
the  Social  Library,  to  git  books.  She  knows  more'n 
the  minister  himself,  a  sight  more." 

"  Where  does  the  minister  live  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Worth 
ington. 

Jake  pulled  him  by  the  sleeve  toward  the  road,  and 
pointed  to  the  low  gable  of  the  little  parsonage  under 
the  elms  on  the  hill  beyond  the  meeting-house.  The 
visitor  gave  a  short  glance  at  it,  swung  around  and  gave 
a  longer  glance  at  the  figure  disappearing  in  the  other 
direction.  He  did  not  suspect  that  Jake  was  what  is  now 
called  a  news  agency.  Then  Mr.  Worthington  turned 
to  Jethro,  who  was  stooping  over  the  bark. 

"  If  you  come  to  Brampton,  call  and  see  me,"  he  said. 
"You'll  find  me  at  Silas  Wheelock's." 

He  got  no  answer,  but  apparently  expected  none,  and 
he  started  off  down  the  Brampton  road  in  the  direction 
Cynthia  had  taken. 

"That  makes  another,"  said  Jake,  significantly,  "and 
Speedy  Bates  says  he  never  looks  at  wimmen.  Godfrey, 
I  wish  I  could  see  Moses  now." 

Mr.  Worthington  had  not  been  quite  ingenuous  with 
Jake.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  had  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  Social  Library  and  Miss  Lucretia,  and  that  lady 
had  sung  the  praises  of  her  favorite.  Once  out  of  sight 
of  Jethro,  Mr.  Worthington  quickened  his  steps,  passed  the 
store,  where  he  was  remarked  by  two  of  Jonah's  custom 
ers,  and  his  blood  leaped  when  he  saw  the  girl  in  front  of 


ENTER  A  GREAT  MAN,   INCOGNITO  37 

him,  walking  faster  now.  Yes,  it  is  a  fact  that  Isaac 
Worthington's  blood  once  leaped.  He  kept  on,  but  when 
near  her  had  a  spasm  of  fright  to  make  his  teeth  fairly 
chatter,  and  than  another  spasm  followed,  for  Cynthia  had 
turned  around. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Worthington?"  she  said,  drop 
ping  him  a  little  courtesy.  Mr.  Worthington  stopped  in 
his  tracks,  and  it  was  some  time  before  he  remembered  to 
take  off  his  woollen  cap  and  sweep  the  mud  with  it. 

"  You  know  my  name  I  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  It  is  known  from  Tarleton  Four  Corners  to  Harwich," 
said  Cynthia,  "  all  that  distance.  To  tell  the  truth,"  she 
added,  "those  are  the  boundaries  of  my  world."  And 
Mr.  Worthington  being  still  silent,  "How  do  you  like 
being  a  big  frog  in  a  little  pond  ?  " 

•'If  it  were  your  pond,  Miss  Cynthia,"  he  responded 
gallantly,  "  I  should  be  content  to  be  a  little  frog." 

"  Would  you  ?  "  she  said ;  "  I  don't  believe  you." 

This  was  not  subtle  flattery,  but  the  truth  —  Mr.  Worth 
ington  would  never  be  content  to  be  a  little  anything. 
So  he  had  been  judged  twice  in  an  afternoon,  once  by 
Jethro  and  again  by  Cynthia. 

"  Why  don't  you  believe  me  ?  "  he  asked  ecstatically. 

"  A  woman's  instinct,  Mr.  Worthington,  has  very  little 
reason  in  it." 

"  I  hear,  Miss  Cynthia,"  he  said  gallantly,  "  that  your 
instinct  is  fortified  by  learning,  since  Miss  Penniman  tells 
me  that  you  are  quite  capable  of  taking  a  school  in 
Boston." 

"  Then  I  should  be  doubly  sure  of  your  character,"  she 
retorted  with  a  twinkle. 

"  Will  you  tell  my  fortune  ?  "  he  said  gayly. 

"Not  on  such  a  slight  acquaintance,"  she  replied. 
"  Good-by,  Mr.  Worthington." 

" I  shall  see  you  in  Brampton,"  he  cried,  "I  —  I  have 
seen  you  in  Brampton." 

She  did  not  answer  this  confession,  but  left  him,  and 
presently  disappeared  beyond  the  triangle  of  the  green, 
while  Mr.  Worthington  pursued  his  way  to  Brampton  by 


38 


ENTER  A  GREAT  MAN,  INCOGNITO  39 

the  road, — his  thoughts  that  evening  not  on  waterfalls  or 
machinery.  As  for  Cynthia's  conduct,  I  do  not  defend 
or  explain  it,  for  I  have  found  out  that  the  best  and  wisest 
of  women  can  at  times  be  coquettish. 

It  was  that  meeting  which  shook  the  serenity  of  poor 
Moses,  and  he  learned  of  it  when  he  went  to  Jonah 
Winch's  store  an  hour  later.  An  hour  later,  indeed, 
r<mist<>u  was  discussing  the  man  of  leisure  in  a  new  light. 
It  was  possible  that  Cynthia  might  take  him,  and  Deacon 
Ira  Perkins  made  a  note  the  next  time  he  went  to  Bramp- 
ton  to  question  Silas  Wheelock  on  Mr.  Worthington's 
origin,  habits,  and  orthodoxy. 

Cynthia  troubled  herself  very  little  about  any  of  these. 
Scarcely  any  purpose  in  the  world  is  single,  but  she  had 
had  a  purpose  in  talking  to  Mr.  Worthington,  besides  the 
pleasure  it  gave  her.  And  the  next  Saturday,  when  she 
rode  off  to  Brampton,  some  one  looked  through  the  cracks 
in  the  tannery  shed  and  saw  that  she  wore  her  new 
bonnet. 

There  is  scarcely  a  pleasanter  place  in  the  world  than 
Brampton  Street  on  a  summer's  day.  Down  the  length 
of  it  runs  a  wide  green,  shaded  by  spreading  trees, 
and  on  either  side,  tree-shaded,  too,  and  each  in  its  own 
little  plot,  gabled  houses  of  that  simple,  graceful 
architecture  of  our  forefathers.  Some  of  these  had  fluted 
pilasters  and  cornices,  the  envy  of  many  a  modern 
architect,  and  fan-shaped  windows  in  dormer  and 
doorway.  And  there  was  the  church,  then  new,  that 
still  stands  to  the  glory  of  its  builders;  with  terraced 
steeple  and  pillared  porch  and  the  widest  of  checker- 
paned  sashes  to  let  in  the  light  on  high-backed  pews  and 
gallery. 

The  celebrated  Social  Library,  halfway  up  the  street, 
occupied  part  of  Miss  Lucretia's  little  house;  or,  it  might 
better  be  said,  Miss  Lucretia  boarded  with  the  Social 
Library.  There  Cynthia  hitched  her  horse,  gave  greet 
ing  to  Mr.  Ezra  Graves  and  others  who  paused,  and, 
before  she  was  fairly  in  the  door,  was  clasped  in  Miss 
Lucretia's  arms.  There  were  new  books  to  be  discussed, 


40  CONISTON 

arrived  by  the  stage  the  day  before^  but  scarce  half  an 
hour  had  passed  before  Cynthia  started  guiltily  at  a  timid 
knock,  and  Miss  Lucretia  rose  briskly. 

"It  must  be  Ezra  Graves  come  for  the  Gibbon,"  she 
said.  "  He's  early."  And  she  went  to  the  door.  Cynthia 
thought  it  was  not  Ezra.  Then  came  Miss  Lucretia's 
voice  from  the  entry :  — 

"  Why,  Mr.  Worthington  !  Have  you  read  the  '  Last  of 
the  Mohicans  '  already  ?  " 

There  he  stood,  indeed,  the  man  of  leisure,  and  to-day  he 
wore  his  beaver  hat.  No,  he  had  not  yet  read  the  '  Last  of 
the  Mohicans.'  There  were  things  in  it  that  Mr.  Worth 
ington  would  like  to  discuss  with  Miss  Penniman.  Was 
it  not  a  social  library?  At  this  juncture  there  came  a 
giggle  from  within  that  made  him  turn  scarlet,  and  he 
scarcely  heard  Miss  Lucretia  offering  to  discuss  the  whole 
range  of  letters.  Enter  Mr.  Worthington,  bows  pro 
foundly  to  Miss  Lucretia's  guest,  his  beaver  in  his  hand, 
and  the  discussion  begins,  Cynthia  taking  no  part  in  it. 
Strangely  enough,  Mr.  Worthington's  remarks  on  Ameri 
can  Indians  are  not  only  intelligent,  but  interesting. 
The  clock  strikes  four,  Miss  Lucretia  starts  up,  suddenly 
remembering  that  she  has  promised  to  read  to  an  invalid, 
and  with  many  regrets  from  Mr.  Worthington,  she  de 
parts.  Then  he  sits  down  again,  twirling  his  beaver, 
whil'j  Cynthia  looks  at  him  in  quiet  amusement. 

"  1  shall  walk  to  Coniston  again,  next  week,"  he  an 
nounced. 

"  What  an  energetic  man  ! "  said  Cynthia. 

"  I  want  to  have  my  fortune  told." 

"  I  hear  that  you  walk  a  great  deal,"  she  remarked,  "  up 
and  down  Coniston  Water.  I  shall  begin  to  think  you 
romantic,  Mr.  Worthington  —  perhaps  a  poet." 

"  I  don't  walk  up  and  down  Coniston  Water  for  that 
reason,"  he  answered  earnestly. 

"  Might  I  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  the  reason  ?  "  she  ven 
tured. 

Great  men  have  their  weaknesses.  And  many,  close- 
mouthed  with  their  own  sex,  will  tell  their  cherished 


ENTER  A   GREAT  MAN,  INCOGNITO  41 

hopes  to  a  woman,  if  their  interests  are  engaged.  With 
a  bas-relief  of  Isaac  Worthington  in  the  town  library 
to-day  (his  own  library),  and  a  full-length  portrait  of  him 
in  the  capitol  of  the  state,  who  shall  deny  this  title  to 
greatness  ? 

He  leaned  a  little  toward  her,  his  face  illumined  by  his 
subject,  which  was  himself. 

"  I  will  confide  in  you,"  he  said,  "  that  some  day  I  shall 
build  here  in  Brampton  a  woollen  mill  which  will  be  the 
best  of  its  kind.  If  I  gain  money,  it  will  not  be  to  hoard 
it  or  to  waste  it.  I  shall  try  to  make  the  town  better  for 
it,  and  the  state,  and  I  shall  try  to  elevate  my  neighbors." 

Cynthia  could  not  deny  that  these  were  laudable  ambi 
tions. 

"  Something  tells  me,"  he  continued,  "  that  I  shall  suc 
ceed.  And  that  is  why  I  walk  on  Coniston  Water  —  to 
choose  the  best  site  for  a  dam." 

"I  am  honored  by  your  secret,  but  I  feel  that  the 
responsibility  you  repose  in  me  is  too  great,"  she  said. 

"  I  can  think  of  none  in  whom  I  would  rather  confide," 
said  he. 

"  And  am  I  the  only  one  in  all  Brampton,  Harwich,  and 
Coniston  who  knows  this  ?  "  she  asked. 

Mr.  Worthington  laughed. 

"  The  only  one  of  importance,"  he  answered.  "  This 
week,  when  I  went  to  Coniston,  I  had  a  strange  experi 
ence.  I  left  the  brook  at  a  tannery,  and  a  most  singular 
fellow  was  in  the  shed  shovelling  bark.  I  tried  to  get 
him  to  talk,  and  told  him  about  some  new  tanning 
machinery  I  had  seen.  Suddenly  he  turned  on  me  and 
asked  me  if  I  was  4callatin'  to  set  up  a  mill.'  He  gave 
me  a  queer  feeling.  Do  you  have  many  such  odd  char 
acters  in  Coniston,  Miss  Cynthia  ?  You're  not  going  ?  " 

Cynthia  had  risen,  and  all  of  the  laughter  was  gone 
from  her  eyes.  What  had  happened  to  make  her  grow 
suddenly  grave,  Isaac  Worthington  never  knew. 

"  I  have  to  get  my  father's  supper,"  she  said. 

He,  too,  rose,  puzzled  and  disconcerted  at  this  change 
in  her. 


42  CONISTON 

"  And  may  I  not  come  to  Coniston  ?  "  he  asked. 

"My  father  and  I  should  be  glad  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Worthington,"  she  answered. 

He  untied  her  horse  and  essayed  one  more  topic. 

"  You  are  taking  a  very  big  book,"  he  said.  "  May  I 
look  at  the  title  ?  " 

She  showed  it  to  him  in  silence.  It  was  the  "  Life  of 
Napoleon  Bonaparte." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    KING    IS    DEAD  !    LONG    LIVE    THE    KING  I 

ISAAC  WORTHINGTON  came  to  Coniston  not  once,  but 
many  times,  before  the  snow  fell ;  and  afterward,  too,  in 
Silas  Wheelock's  yellow  sleigh  through  the  great  drifts 
under  the  pines,  the  chestnut  Morgan  trotting  to  one  side 
in  the  tracks.  On  one  of  these  excursions  he  fell  in  with 
that  singular  character  of  a  bumpkin  who  had  interested 
him  on  his  first  visit,  in  coonskin  cap  and  overcoat  and 
mittens.  Jethro  Bass  was  plodding  in  the  same  direc 
tion,  and  Isaac  Worthington,  out  of  the  goodness  of  his 
heart,  invited  him  into  the  sleigh.  He  was  scarcely  pre 
pared  for  the  bumpkin's  curt  refusal,  but  put  it  down 
to  native  boorishness,  and  thought  no  more  about  it  — 
then.  ,•£• 

What  troubled  Mr.  Worthington  infinitely  more  was 
the  progress  of  his  suit ;  for  it  had  become  a  suit,  though 
progress  is  a  wrong  word  to  use  in  connection  with  it.  So 
far  had  he  got,  —  not  a  great  distance,  —  and  then  came  to 
what  he  at  length  discovered  was  a  wall,  and  apparently 
impenetrable.  He  was  not  even  allowed  to  look  over  it. 
Cynthia  was  kind,  engaging,  even  mirthful,  at  times,  save 
when  he  approached  it ;  and  he  became  convinced  that  a 
certain  sorrow  lay  in  the  forbidden  ground.  The  nearest 
he  had  come  to  it  was  when  he  mentioned  again,  by  accident, 
that  life  of  Napoleon. 

That  Cynthia  would  accept  him,  nobody  doubted  for 
an  instant.  It  would  be  madness  not  to.  He  was  ortho 
dox,  so  Deacon  Ira  had  discovered,  of  good  habits,  and 
there  was  the  princely  four  hundred  a  year  —  almost  a 
minister's  salary !  Little  people  guessed  that  there  was 

43 


44  CONISTON 

no  love-making  —  only  endless  discussions  of  books  be 
side  the  great  centre  chimney,  and  discussions  of  Isaac 
Worthington's  career. 

It  is  a  fact  —  for  future  consideration  —  that  Isaac 
Worthington  proposed  to  Cynthia  Ware,  although  neither 
Speedy  Bates  nor  Deacon  Ira  Perkins  heard  him  do  so. 
It  had  been  very  carefully  prepared,  that  speech,  and  was 
a  model  of  proposals  for  the  rising  young  men  of  all  time. 
Mr.  Worthington  preferred  to  offer  himself  for  what  he 
was  going  to  be  —  not  for  what  he  was.  He  tendered  to 
Cynthia  a  note  for  a  large  amount,  payable  in  some  twenty 
years,  with  interest.  The  astonishing  thing  to  record  is 
that  in  twenty  years  he  could  have  more  than  paid  the 
note,  although  he  could  not  have  foreseen  at  that  time  the 
Worthington  Free  Library  and  the  Truro  Railroad,  and 
the  stained-glass  window  in  the  church  and  the  great  marble 
monument  on  the  hill  —  to  another  woman.  All  of  these 
things,  and  more,  Cynthia  might  have  had  if  she  had  only 
accepted  that  promise  to  pay!  But  she  did  not  accept  it. 
He  was  a  trifle  more  robust  than  when  he  came  to  Brampton 
in  the  summer,  but  perhaps  she  doubted  his  promise  to  pay. 

It  may  have  been  guessed,  although  the  language  we 
have  used  has  been  purposely  delicate,  that  Cynthia  was  al 
ready  in  love  with  —  somebody  else.  Shame  of  shames  and 
horror  of  horrors  —  with  Jethro  Bass!  With  Strength,  in 
the  crudest  form  in  which  it  is  created,  perhaps, 
but  yet  with  Strength.  The  strength  might  gradually 
and  eventually  be  refined.  Such  was  her  hope,  when  she 
had  any.  It  is  hard,  looking  back  upon  that  virginal  and 
cultured  Cynthia,  to  be  convinced  that  she  could  have 
loved  passionately,  and  such  a  man!  But  love  she  did, 
and  passionately,  too,  and  hated  herself  for  it,  and  prayed 
and  struggled  to  cast  out  what  she  believed,  at  times,  to  be 
a  devil. 

The  ancient  allegory  of  Cupid  and  the  arrows  has  never 
been  improved  upon:  of  Cupid,  who  should  never  in  the 
world  have  been  trusted  with  a  weapon,  who  defies  all 
game  laws,  who  shoots  people  in  the  bushes  and  innocent 
bystanders  generally,  the  weak  and  the  helpless  and  the 


THE  KING  IS  DEAD!  LONG  LIVE  THE  KING!    45 

strong  and  self-confident!  There  is  no  more  reason  in  it 
than  that.  He  shot  Cynthia  Ware,  and  what  she  suffered 
in  secret  Coniston  never  guessed.  What  parallels  in  his 
tory  shall  I  quote  to  bring  home  the  enormity  of  such  a 
mesalliance  ?  Orthodox  Coniston  would  have  gone  into 
sackcloth  and  ashes,  —  was  soon  to  go  into  these,  anyway. 

I  am  not  trying  to  keep  the  lovers  apart  for  any  mere 
purposes  of  fiction,  —  this  is  a  true  chronicle,  and  they 
stayed  apart  most  of  that  winter.  Jethro  went  about  his 
daily  tasks,  which  were  now  become  manifold,  and  he 
wore  the  locket  on  its  little  chain  himself.  He  did  not 
think  that  Cynthia  loved  him  —  yet,  but  he  had  the  effron 
tery  to  believe  that  she  might,  some  day;  and  he  was  con 
tent  to  wait.  He  saw  that  she  avoided  him,  and  he  was 
too  proud  to  go  to  the  parsonage  and  so  incur  ridicule  and 
contempt. 

Jethro  was  content  to  wait.  That  is  a  clew  to  his  char 
acter  throughout  his  life.  He  would  wait  for  his  love,  he 
would  wait  for  his  hate :  he  had  waited  ten  years 
before  putting  into  practice  the  first  step  of  a  little  scheme 
which  he  had  been  gradually  developing  during  that  time, 
for  which  he  had  been  amassing  money,  and  the  life  of  Na 
poleon  Bonaparte,  by  the  way,  had  given  him  some  valu 
able  ideas.  Jethro,  as  well  as  Isaac  D.  Worthington,  had 
ambitions,  although  no  one  in  Coniston  had  hitherto 
guessed  them  except  Jock  Hallowell  —  and  Cynthia  Ware, 
after  her  curiosity  had  been  aroused. 

Even  as  Isaac  D.  Worthington  did  not  dream  of  the 
Truro  Railroad  and  of  an  era  in  the  haze  of  futurity,  it 
did  not  occur  to  Jetbro  Bass  that  his  ambitions  tended  to 
the  making  of  another  era  that  was  at  hand.  Makers  of 
eras  are  too  busy  thinking  about  themselves  and  like  imme 
diate  matters  to  worry  about  history.  Jethro  never  heard 
the  expression  about  "  cracks  in  the  Constitution,"  and 
would  not  have  known  what  it  meant,  —  he  merely  had 
the  desire  to  get  on  top.  But  with  Established  Church 
Coniston  tight  in  the  saddle  (in  the  person  of  Moses 
Hatch,  Senior),  how  was  he  to  do  it? 

As  the  winter  wore  on,  and  March  town  meeting  ap- 


46  CONISTON 

preached,  strange  rumors  of  a  Democratic  ticket  began 
to  drift  into  Jonah  Winch's  store,  —  a  Democratic  ticket 
headed  by  Fletcher  Bartlett,  of  all  men,  as  chairman  of 
the  board.  Moses  laughed  when  he  first  heard  of 
it,  for  Fletcher  was  an  easy-going  farmer  of  the 
Methodist  persuasion  who  was  always  in  debt,  and  the 
other  members  of  the  ticket,  so  far  as  Moses  could  learn 
of  it  —  were  remarkable  neither  for  orthodoxy  or  solidity. 
The  rumors  persisted,  and  still  Moses  laughed,  for  the 
senior  selectman  was  a  big  man  with  flesh  on  him,  who 
could  laugh  with  dignity. 

"  Moses,"  said  Deacon  Lysander  Richardson  as  they 
stood  on  the  platform  of  the  store  one  sunny  Saturday 
in  February,  "  somebody's  put  Fletcher  up  to  this.  He 
hain't  got  sense  enough  to  act  that  independent  all  by 
himself." 

"  You  be  always  croakin',  Lysander,"  answered  Moses. 

Cynthia  Ware,  who  had  come  to  the  store  for  buttons 
for  Speedy  Bates,  who  was  making  a  new  coat  for  the 
minister,  heard  these  remarks,  and  stood  thoughtfully 
staring  at  the  blue  coat-tails  of  the  elders.  A  brass  but 
ton  was  gone  from  Deacon  Lysander's,  and  she  wanted 
to  sew  it  on.  Suddenly  she  looked  up,  and  saw  Jock 
Hallowell  standing  beside  her.  Jock  winked  —  and  Cyn 
thia  blushed  and  hurried  homeward  without  a  word.  She 
remembered,  vividly  enough,  what  Jock  had  told  her  the 
spring  before,  and  several  times  during  the  week  that 
followed  she  thought  of  waylaying  him  and  asking  what 
he  knew.  But  she  could  not  summon  the  courage.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  Jock  knew  nothing,  but  he  had  a  theory. 
He  was  a  strange  man,  Jock,  who  whistled  all  day  on  roof 
and  steeple  and  meddled  with  nobody's  business,  as  a  rule. 
What  had  impelled  him  to  talk  to  Cynthia  in  the  way  he 
had  must  remain  a  mystery. 

Meanwhile  the  disquieting  rumors  continued  to  come 
in.  Jabez  Miller,  on  the  north  slope,  had  told  Samuel 
Todd,  who  told  Ephraim  Williams,  that  he  was  going  to 
vote  for  Fletcher.  Moses  Hatch  hitched  up  his  team  and 
went  out  to  see  Jabez,  spent  an  hour  in  general  conversa 
tion,  and  then  plumped  the  question,  taking,  as  he  said, 


"  '  You  be  always  croakin',  Lysander. 


47 


48  CONISTON 

that  means  of  finding  out.  Jabez  hemmed  and  hawed, 
said  his  farm  was  mortgaged ;  spoke  at  some  length  about 
the  American  citizen,  however  humble,  having  a  right  to 
vote  as  he  chose.  A  most  unusual  line  for  Jabez,  and  the 
whole  matter  very  mysterious  and  not  a  little  ominous. 
Moses  drove  homeward  that  sparkling  day,  shutting  his 
eyes  to  the  glare  of  the  ice  crystals  on  the  pines,  and 
thinking  profoundly.  He  made  other  excursions,  enough 
to  satisfy  himself  that  this  disease,  so  new  and  unheard  of 
(the  right  of  the  unfit  to  hold  office),  actually  existed. 
Where  the  germ  began  that  caused  it,  Moses  knew  no 
better  than  the  deacon,  since  those  who  were  suspected 
of  leanings  toward  Fletcher  Bartlett  were  strangely  se 
cretive.  The  practical  result  of  Moses'  profound  thought 
was  a  meeting,  in  his  own  house,  without  respect  to  party, 
Democrats  and  Whigs  alike,  opened  by  a  prayer  from  the 
minister  himself.  The  meeting,  after  a  futile  session, 
broke  up  dismally.  Sedition  and  conspiracy  existed  ;  a 
chief  offender  and  master  mind  there  was,  somewhere. 
But  who  was  he? 

Good  Mr.  Ware  went  home,  troubled  in  spirit,  shaking 
his  head.  He  had  a  cold,  and  was  not  so  strong  as  he 
used  to  be,  and  should  not  have  gone  to  the  meeting  at 
all.  At  supper,  Cynthia  listened  with  her  eyes  on  her 
plate  while  he  told  her  of  the  affair. 

"  Somebody's  behind  this,  Cynthia,"  he  said.  "  It's  the 
most  astonishing  thing  in  my  experience  that  we  cannot 
discover  who  has  incited  them.  All  the  unattached  peo 
ple  in  the  town  seem  to  have  been  organized."  Mr.  Ware 
was  wont  to  speak  with  moderation  even  at  his  own 
table.  He  said  unattached  —  not  ungodly. 

Cynthia  kept  her  eyes  on  her  plate,  but  she  felt  as 
though  her  body  were  afire.  Little  did  the  minister  imag 
ine,  as  he  went  off  to  write  his  sermon,  that  his  daughter 
might  have  given  him  the  clew  to  the  mystery.  Yes, 
Cynthia  guessed  ;  and  she  could  not  read  that  evening 
because  of  the  tumult  of  her  thoughts.  What  was  her 
duty  in  the  matter  ?  To  tell  her  father  her  suspicions  ? 
They  were  only  suspicious,  after  all,  and  she  could  make 


THE  KING  IS  DEAD!  LONG  LIVE  THE  KING!    49 

no  accusations.  And  Jethro  !  Although  she  condemned 
him,  there  was  something  in  the  situation  that  appealed 
to  a  most  reprehensible  sense  of  humor.  Cynthia  caught 
herself  smiling  once  or  twice,  and  knew  that  it  was  wicked. 
She  excused  Jethro,  and  told  herself  that,  with  his  lack  of 
training,  he  could  know  no  better.  Then  an  idea  came  to 
her,  and  the  very  boldness  of  it  made  her  grow  hot  again. 
She  would  appeal  to  him  :  tell  him  that  that  power  he 
had  over  other  men  could  be  put  to  better  and  finer  uses. 
She  would  appeal  to  him,  and  he  would  abandon  the  mat 
ter.  That  the  man  loved  her  with  the  whole  of  his  rude 
strength  she  was  sure,  and  that  knowledge  had  been  the 
only  salve  to  her  shame. 

So  far  we  have  only  suspicions  ourselves ;  and,  strange 
to  relate,  if  we  go  around  Coniston  with  Jethro  behind 
his  little  red  Morgan,  we  shall  come  back  with  nothing 
but  —  suspicions.  They  will  amount  to  convictions,  yet 
we  cannot  prove  them.  The  reader  very  naturally  de 
mands  some  specific  information  —  how  did  Jethro  do  it  ? 
I  confess  that  I  can  only  indicate  in  a  very  general  way: 
I  can  prove  nothing.  Nobody  ever  could  prove  anything 
against  Jethro  Bass.  Bring  the  following  evidence  before 
any  grand  jury  in  the  country,  and  see  if  they  don't  throw 
it  out  of  court. 

Jethro,  in  the  course  of  his  weekly  round  of  strictly 
business  visits  throughout  the  town,  drives  into  Samuel 
Todd's  farmyard,  and  hitches  on  the  sunny  side  of  the 
red  barns.  The  town  of  Coniston,  it  must  be  explained 
for  the  benefit  of  those  who  do  not  understand  the  word 
"  town  "  in  the  New  England  sense,  was  a  tract  of  country 
about  ten  miles  by  ten,  the  most  thickly  settled  portion 
of  which  was  the  village  of  Coniston,  consisting  of  twelve 
houses.  Jethro  drives  into  the  barnyard,  and  Samuel 
Todd  comes  out.  He  is  a  little  man,  and  has  a  habit  of 
rubbing  the  sharp  ridge  of  his  nose. 

"Haow  be  you,  Jethro?"  says  Samuel.  "Killed  the 
brindle  Thursday.  Finest  hide  you  ever  seed."  . 

"  G-goin'  to  town  meetin'  Tuesday  —  g-goin'  to  town 
meetin'  Tuesday  —  Sam'l  ?  "  says  Jethro. 


50  CONISTON 

"  I  was  callatin'  to,  Jethro." 

"  Democrat  —  hain't  ye  —  Democrat  ?  " 

"  CaUate  to  be." 

"  How  much  store  do  ye  set  by  that  hide  ?  " 

Samuel  rubs  his  nose.  Then  he  names  a  price  that  the 
hide  might  fetch,  under  favorable  circumstances,  in  Bos 
ton.  Jethro  does  not  wince. 

"  Who  d'ye  callate  to  vote  for,  Sam'l  ?  " 

Samuel  rubs  his  nose. 

"  Heerd  they  was  a-goin'  to  put  up  Fletcher  and  Amos 
Cuthbert,  an'  Sam  Price  for  Moderator."  (What  a  con 
venient  word  is  they  when  used  politically  !)  "  Hain't 
made  up  my  mind,  clear,"  says  Samuel. 

"  C-comin'  by  the  tannery  after  town  meetin'  ? " 
inquired  Jethro,  casually. 

"  Don't  know  but  what  I  kin." 

"F-fetch  the  hide  — f-fetch  the  hide." 

And  Jethro  drives  off,  with  Samuel  looking  after  him, 
rubbing  his  nose.  "  No  bill,"  says  the  jury  —  if  you  can 
get  Samuel  into  court.  But  you  can't.  Even  Moses 
Hatch  can  get  nothing  out  of  Samuel,  who  then  talks 
Jacksonian  principles  and  the  rights  of  an  American 
citizen. 

Let  us  pursue  this  matter  a  little  farther,  and  form  a 
committee  of  investigation.  Where  did  Mr.  Todd  learn 
anything  about  Jacksonian  principles  ?  From  Mr.  Samuel 
Price,  whom  they  have  spoken  of  for  Moderator.  And 
where  did  Mr.  Price  learn  of  these  principles  ?  Any  one 
in  Coniston  will  tell  you  that  Mr.  Price  makes  a  specialty 
of  orators  and  oratory,  and  will  hold  forth  at  the  drop  of 
a  hat  in  Jonah  Winch's  store  or  anywhere  else.  Who  is 
Mr.  Price  ?  He  is  a  tall,  sallow  young  man  of  eight  and 
twenty,  with  a  wedge-shaped  face,  a  bachelor  and  a 
Methodist,  who  farms  in  a  small  way  on  the  southern 
slope,  and  saves  his  money.  He  has  become  almost  insup 
portable  since  they  have  named  him  for  Moderator. 

Get  Mr.  Sam  Price  into  court.  Here  is  a  man  who 
assuredly  knows  who  they  are :  if  we  are  not  much 
mistaken,  he  is  their  mouthpiece.  Get  an  eel  into  court. 


THE  KING  IS  DEAD!   LONG  LIVE  THE  KING!    51 

There  is  only  one  man  in  town  who  can  hold  an  eel,  and 
he  isn't  on  the  jury.  Mr.  Price  will  talk  plentifully,  in 
his  nasal  way ;  but  he  won't  tell  you  anything. 

Mr.  Price  has  been  nominated  to  fill  Deacon  Lysander 
Richardson's  shoes  in  the  following  manner :  One  day  in 
the  late  autumn  a  man  in  a  coonskin  cap  stops  beside  Mr. 
Price's  woodpile,  where  Mr.  Price  has  been  chopping 
wood,  pausing  occasionally  to  stare  off  through  the  purple 
haze  at  the  south  shoulder  of  Coniston  Mountain. 

"  Haow  be  you,  Jethro  ?  "  says  Mr.  Price,  nasally. 

"  D-Democrats  are  talkin'  some  of  namin'  you  Moder 
ator  next  meetin',"  says  the  man  in  the  coonskin  cap. 

"  Want  to  know  I "  ejaculates  Mr.  Price,  dropping  the 
axe  and  straightening  up  in  amazement.  For  Mr.  Price's 
ambition  soared  no  higher,  and  he  had  made  no  secret  of 
it.  "  Wai  !  Whar'd  you  hear  that,  Jethro  ?  " 

"  H-heerd  it  round  —  some.    D-Democrat  —  hain't  you 

—  Democrat  ?  " 

"  Always  callate  to  be." 
*4  J-Jacksonian  Democrat  ?  " 
"  Guess  I  be." 

Silence  for  a  while,  that  Mr.  Price  may  feel  the  gavel 
in  his  hand,  which  he  does. 

"  Know  somewhat  about  Jacksonian  principles,  don't  ye 

—  know  somewhat  ?  " 

"  Callate  to,"  says  Mr.  Price,  proudly. 

"T-talk  'em  up,  Sam  —  t-talk  'em  up.  C-canvass, 
Sam." 

With  these  words  of  brotherly  advice  Mr.  Bass  went 
off  down  the  road,  and  Mr.  Price  chopped  no  more  wood 
that  night ;  but  repeated  to  himself  many  times  in  his 
nasal  voice,  "  I  want  to  know  !  "  In  the  course  of  the 
next  few  weeks  various  gentlemen  mentioned  to  Mr. 
Price  that  he  had  been  spoken  of  for  Moderator,  and  he 
became  acquainted  with  the  names  of  the  other  candidates 
on  the  same  mysterious  ticket  who  were  mentioned. 
Whereupon  he  girded  up  his  loins  and  went  forth  and 
preached  the  word  of  Jacksonian  Democracy  in  all  the 
farmhouses  roundabout,  with  such  effect  that  Samuel 


52  CONISTON 

Todd  and  others  were  able  to  talk  with  some  fluency 
about  the  rights  of  American  citizens. 

Question  before  the  Committee,  undisposed  of  :  Who 
nominated  Samuel  Price  for  Moderator  ?  Samuel  Price 
gives  the  evidence,  tells  the  court  he  does  not  know,  and 
is  duly  cautioned  and  excused. 

Let  us  call,  next,  Mr.  Eben  Williams,  if  we  can. 
Moses  Hatch,  Senior,  has  already  interrogated  him  with 
all  the  authority  of  the  law  and  the  church,  for  Mr. 
Williams  is  orthodox,  though  the  deacons  have  to  remind 
him  of  his  duty  once  in  a  while.  Eben  is  timid,  and 
replies  to  us,  as  to  Moses,  that  he  has  heard  of  the  Demo 
cratic  ticket,  and  callates  that  Fletcher  Bartlett,  who  has 
always  been  the  leader  of  the  Democratic  party,  has 
named  the  ticket.  He  did  not  mention  Jethro  Bass  to 
Deacon  Hatch.  Why  should  he  ?  What  has  Jethro 
Bass  got  to  do  with  politics? 

Eben  lives  on  a  southern  spur,  next  to  Amos  Cuthbert, 
where  you  can  look  off  for  forty  miles  across  the  billowy 
mountains  of  the  west.  From  no  spot  in  Coniston  town 
is  the  sunset  so  fine  on  distant  Farewell  Mountain,  and 
Eben's  sheep  feed  on  pastures  where  only  mountain-bred 
sheep  can  cling  and  thrive.  Coniston,  be  it  known,  at 
this  time  is  one  of  the  famous  wool  towns  of  New  Eng 
land  :  before  the  industry  went  West,  with  other  indus 
tries.  But  Eben  Williams's  sheep  do  not  wholly  belong 
to  him  —  they  are  mortgaged  —  and  Eben's  farm  is  mort 
gaged. 

Jethro  Bass  —  Eben  testifies  to  us  —  is  in  the  habit  of 
visiting  him  once  a  month,  perhaps,  when  he  goes  to 
Amos  Cuthbert's.  Just  friendly  calls.  Is  it  not  a  fact 
that  Jethro  Bass  holds  his  mortgage  ?  Yes,  for  eight 
hundred  dollars.  How  long  has  he  held  that  mortgage  ? 
About  a  year  and  a  half.  Has  the  interest  been  paid 
promptly  ?  Well,  the  fact  is  that  Eben  hasn't  paid  any 
interest  yet. 

Now  let  us  take  the  concrete  incident.  Before  that 
hypocritical  thaw  early  in  February,  Jethro  called  upon 
Amos  Cuthbert  —  not  so  surly  then  as  he  has  since  be- 


THE  KING  IS  DEAD!  LONG  LIVE  THE  KING!    53 

come  —  and  talked  about  buying  his  wool  when  it  should 
be  duly  cut,  and  permitted  Amos  to  talk  about  the  posi 
tion  of  second  selectman,  for  which  some  person  or  persons 
unknown  to  the  jury  had  nominated  him.  On  his  way 
down  to  the  Four  Corners,  Jethro  had  merely  pulled  up 
his  sleigh  before  Eben  WiUiams's  house,  which  stood  be 
hind  a  huge  snow  bank  and  practically  on  the  road.  Eben 
appeared  at  the  door,  a  little  dishevelled  in  hair  and  beard, 
for  he  had  been  sleeping. 

"  Haow  be  you,  Jethro  ?  "  he  said  nervously.  Jethro 
nodded. 

"  Weather  looks  a  mite  soft." 

No  answer. 

"About  that  interest,"  said  Eben,  plunging  into  the 
dread  subject,  "  don't  know  as  I'm  ready  this  month  after 
all." 

*'  G-goin'  to  town  meetin',  Eben  ?  " 

"  Wahn't  callatin'  to,"  answered  Eben. 

"  G-goin'  to  town  meetin',  Eben  ?  " 

Eben,  puzzled  and  dismayed,  ran  his  hand  through  his 
hair. 

"  Wahn't  callatin'  to  —  but  I  kin  —  I  kin." 

"  D-Democrat — hain't  ye —  D-Democrat  ?  " 

"  I  kin  be,"  said  Eben.  Then  he  looked  at  Jethro  and 
added  in  a  startled  voice,  "  Don't  know  but  what  I  be  — 
Yes,  I  guess  I  be." 

"  H-heerd  the  ticket  ?  " 

Yes,  Eben  had  heard  the  ticket.  What  man  had  not. 
Some  one  has  been  most  industrious,  and  most  disinter 
ested,  in  distributing  that  ticket. 

"  Hain't  a  mite  of  hurry  about  the  interest  right  now — 
right  now,"  said  Jethro.  "  M-may  be  along  the  third 
week  in  March  —  may  be  —  c-can't  tell." 

And  Jethro  clucked  to  his  horse,  and  drove  away. 
Eben  Williams  went  back  into  his  house  and  sat  down 
with  his  head  in  his  hands.  In  about  two  hours,  when 
his  wife  called  him  to  fetch  water,  he  set  down  the  pail  on 
the  snow  and  stared  across  the  next  ridge  at  the  eastern 
horizon,  whitening  after  the  sunset. 


64  CONISTON 

The  third  week  in  March  was  the  week  after  town 
meeting !  « 

"  M-may  be  —  c-can't  tell,"  repeated  Eben  to  himself, 
unconsciously  imitating  Jethro's  stutter.  "  Godfrey,  I'll 
hev  to  git  that  ticket  straight  from  Amos." 

Yes,  we  may  have  our  suspicions.  But  how  can  we  get 
a  bill  on  this  evidence  ?  There  are  some  thirty  other  in 
dividuals  in  Coniston  whose  mortgages  Jethro  holds,  from 
a  horse  to  a  house  and  farm.  It  is  not  likely  that  they 
will  tell  Deacon  Hatch,  or  us,  that  they  are  going  to  town 
meeting  and  vote  for  that  fatherless  ticket  because  Jethro 
Bass  wishes  them  to  do  so.  And  Jethro  has  never  said 
that  he  wishes  them  to.  If  so,  where  are  your  witnesses  ? 
Have  we  not  come  back  to  our  starting-point,  even  as 
Moses  Hatch  drove  around  in  a  circle.  And  we  have  the 
advantage  over  Moses,  for  we  suspect  somebody,  and  he  did 
not  know  whom  to  suspect.  Certainly  not  Jethro  Bass, 
the  man  that  lived  under  his  nose  and  never  said  any 
thing —  and  had  no  right  to.  Jethro  Bass  had  never 
taken  any  active  part  in  politics,  though  some  folks  had 
heard,  in  his  rounds  on  business,  that  he  had  discussed 
them,  and  had  spread  the  news  of  the  infamous  ticket 
without  a  parent.  So  much  was  spoken  of  at  the  meet 
ing  over  which  Priest  Ware  prayed.  It  was  even  declared 
that,  being  a  Democrat,  Jethro  might  have  influenced  some 
of  those  under  obligations  to  him.  Sam  Price  was  at  last 
fixed  upon  as  the  malefactor,  though  people  agreed  that 
they  had  not  given  him  credit  for  so  much  sense,  and 
Jacksonian  principles  became  as  much  abhorred  by  the 
orthodox  as  the  spotted  fever. 

We  can  call  a  host  of  other  witnesses  if  we  like,  among 
them  cranky,  happy-go-lucky  Fletcher  Bartlett,  who  has 
led  forlorn  hopes  in  former  years.  Court  proceedings 
make  tiresome  reading,  and  if  those  who  have  been  over 
ours  have  not  arrived  at  some  notion  of  the  simple  and  in 
nocent  method  of  the  new  Era  of  politics  now  dawning  — 
they  never  will.  Nothing  proved.  But  here  is  part  of 
the  ticket  which  nobody  started :  — 


THE  KING  IS  DEAD !  LONG  LIVE  THE  KING !    65 

For 

SENIOR  SELECTMAN,  FLETCHER  BARTLETT. 

(Farm  and  buildings  on  Thousand  Acre 
Hill  mortgaged  to  Jethro  Bast.) 

SECOND  SELECTMAN,  AMOS  CUTHBERT. 

(Farm  and  buildings  on  Town's  End 
Ridge  mortgaged  to  Jethro  Bass.) 

THIRD  SELECTMAN,  CHESTER  PERKINS. 

(Sop  of  some  kind  to  the  Established 
Church  party.  Horse  and  cow  mort 
gaged  to  Jethro  Bass,  though  his 
father,  the  tithing-man,  doesn't 
know  it.) 

MODERATOR,  SAMUEL  PRICE. 

(Natural  ambition — love  of  oratory  and 
Jacksonian  principles.) 

etc.,  etc. 

The  notes  are  mine,  not  Moses's.  Strange  that  they 
didn't  occur  to  Moses.  What  a  wealthy  man  has  our  hero 
become  at  thirty-one  1  Jethro  Bass  was  rich  beyond  the 
dreams  of  avarice  —  for  Coniston.  Truth  compels  me  to 
admit  that  the  sum  total  of  all  his  mortgages  did  not 
amount  to  nine  thousand  dollars;  but  that  was  a  large 
sum  of  money  for  Coniston  in  those  days,  and  even  now. 
Nathan  Bass  had  been  a  saving  man,  and  had  left  to  his 
son  one-half  of  this  fortune.  If  thrift  and  the  ability  to 
gain  wealth  be  qualities  for  a  hero,  Jethro  had  them  —  in 
those  days. 

The  Sunday  before  March  meeting,  it  blew  bitter  cold, 
and  Priest  Ware,  preaching  in  mittens,  denounced  sedition 
in  general.  Underneath  him,  on  the  first  landing  of  the 
high  pulpit,  the  deacons  sat  with  knitted  brows,  and  the 


"Priest  Ware,  preaching  in  mittens." 


66 


THE  KING  IS  DEAD!   LONG  LIVE  THE  KING!    57 

key-note  from  Isaiah  Prescott's  pitch  pipe  sounded  like  a 
mournful  echo  of  the  mournful  wind  without. 

Monday  was  ushered  in  with  that  sleet  storm  to  which 
the  almanacs  still  refer,  and  another  scarcely  less  impor 
tant  event  occurred  that  day  which  we  shall  have  to  pass 
by  for  the  present;  on  Tuesday,  the  sleet  still  raging, 
came  the  historic  town  meeting.  Deacon  Moses  Hatch, 
his  chores  done  and  his  breakfast  and  prayers  completed, 
fought  his  way  with  his  head  down  through  a  white  waste 
to  the  meeting-house  door,  and  unlocked  it,  and  shivered 
as  he  made  the  fire.  It  was  certainly  not  good  election 
weather,  thought  Moses,  and  others  of  the  orthodox  per 
suasion,  high  in  office,  were  of  the  same  opinion  as  they 
stood  with  parted  coat  tails  before  the  stove.  Whoever 
had  stirred  up  and  organized  the  hordes,  whoever  was  the 
author  of  that  ticket  of  the  discontented,  had  not  counted 
upon  the  sleet.  Heaven-sent  sleet,  said  Deacon  Ira  Per 
kins,  and  would  not  speak  to  his  son  Chester,  who  sat 
down  just  then  in  one  of  the  rear  slips.  Chester  had  be 
come  an  agitator,  a  Jacksonian  Democrat,  and  an  outcast, 
to  be  prayed  for  but  not  spoken  to. 

We  shall  leave  them  their  peace  of  mind  for  half  an 
hour  more,  those  stanch  old  deacons  and  selectmen,  who 
did  their  duty  by  their  fellow-citizens  as  they  saw  it  and 
took  no  man's  bidding.  They  could  not  see  the  trackless 
roads  over  the  hills,  now  becoming  tracked,  and  the  bent 
figures  driving  doggedly  against  the  storm,  each  impelled 
by  a  motive  :  each  motive  strengthened  by  a  master  mind 
until  it  had  become  imperative.  Some,  like  Eben  Will 
iams  behind  his  rickety  horse,  came  through  fear ;  others 
through  ambition;  others  were  actuated  by  both;  and 
still  others  were  stung  by  the  pain  of  the  sleet  to  a  still 
greater  jealousy  and  envy,  and  the  remembrance  of  those 
who  had  been  in  power.  I  must  not  omit  the  conscien 
tious  Jacksonians  who  were  misguided  enough  to  believe 
in  such  a  ticket. 

The  sheds  were  not  large  enough  to  hold  the  teams  that 
day.  Jethro's  barn  and  tannery  were  full,  and  many 
other  barn*  in  the  village.  And  now  the  peace  of  mind 


58  CONISTON 

of  the  orthodox  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  Deacon  Lysander 
Richardson,  the  moderator,  sits  aghast  in  his  high  place 
as  they  come  trooping  in,  men  who  have  not  been  to  town 
meeting  for  ten  years.  Deacon  Lysander,  with  his  white 
band  of  whiskers  that  goes  around  his  neck  like  a  six 
teenth-century  ruff  under  his  chin,  will  soon  be  a  memory. 
Now  enters  one,  if  Deacon  Lysander  had  known  it  — 
symbolic  of  the  new  Era.  One  who,  though  his  large 
head  is  bent,  towers  over  most  of  the  men  who  make  way 
for  him  in  the  aisle,  nodding  but  not  speaking,  and  takes 
his  place  in  the  chair  under  the  platform  on  the  right  of 
the  meeting-house  under  one  of  the  high,  three-part  win 
dows.  That  chair  was  always  his  in  future  years,  and  there 
he  sat  afterward,  silent,  apparently  taking  no  part.  But 
not  a  man  dropped  a  ballot  into  the  box  whom  Jethro 
Bass  did  not  see  and  mark. 

And  now,  when  the  meeting-house  is  crowded  as  it  has 
never  been  before,  when  Jonah  Winch  has  arranged  his 
dinner  booth  in  the  corner,  Deacon  Lysander  raps  for 
order  and  the  minister  prays.  They  proceed,  first,  to 
elect  a  representative  to  the  General  Court.  The  Jack- 
sonians  do  not  contest  that  seat, — this  year, —  and  Isaiah 
Prescott,  fourteenth  child  of  Timothy,  the  Stark  hero, 
father  of  a  young  Ephraim  whom  we  shall  hear  from 
later,  is  elected.  And  now  !  Now  for  a  sensation,  now 
for  disorder  and  misrule  ! 

"Gentlemen,"  says  Deacon  Lysander,  "you  will  pre 
pare  your  ballots  for  the  choice  of  the  first  Selectman." 

The  Whigs  have  theirs  written  out,  —  Deacon  Moses 
Hatch.  But  who  has  written  out  these  others  that  are 
being  so  assiduously  passed  around  ?  Sam  Price,  perhaps, 
for  he  is  passing  them  most  assiduously.  And  what  name 
is  written  on  them  ?  Fletcher  Bartlett,  of  course  ;  that 
was  on  the  ticket.  Somebody  is  tricked  again.  That 
is  not  the  name  on  the  ticket.  Look  over  Sam  Price's 
shoulder  and  you  will  see  the  name  —  Jethro  Bass. 

It  bursts  from  the  lips  of  Fletcher  Bartlett  himself  — 
of  Fletcher,  inflammable  as  gunpowder. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  withdraw  as  your  candidate,  and  nomi 
nate  a  better  and  an  abler  man,  —  Jethro  Bass." 


THE  KING  IS  DEAD!  LONG  LIVE  THE  KING!    59 

"  Jethro  Bass  for  Chairman  of  the  Selectmen  !  " 
The  cry  is  taken  up  all  over  the  meeting-house,  and 
rises  high  above  the  hiss  of  the  sleet  on  the  great  windows. 
Somebody's  got  on  the  stove,  to  add  to  the  confusion  and 
horror.  The  only  man  in  the  whole  place  who  is  not 
excited  is  Jethro  Bass  himself,  who  sits  in  his  chair  regard 
less  of  those  pressing  around  him.  Many  years  afterward 
he  confessed  to  some  one  that  he  was  surprised  —  and  this 
is  true.  Fletcher  Bartlett  had  surprised  and  tricked 
him,  but  was  forgiven.  Forty  men  are  howling  at  the 
moderator,  who  is  pounding  on  the  table  with  a  black 
smith's  blows.  Squire  Asa  Northcutt,  with  his  arms 
fanning  like  a  windmill  from  the  edge  of  the  platform,  at 
length  shouts  down  everybody  else  —  down  to  a  hum. 
Some  listen  to  him  :  hear  the  words  "  infamous  outrage" 
—  "  if  Jethro  Bass  is  elected  Selectman,  Coniston  will  never 
be  able  to  hold  up  her  head  among  her  sister  towns  for 
very  shame."  (Momentary  blank,  for  somebody  has  got 
on  the  stove  again,  a  scuffle  going  on  there.)  "I  see  it 
all  now,"  says  the  Squire  —  (marvel  of  perspicacity!) 
"  Jethro  Bass  has  debased  and  debauched  this  town  —  " 
(blank  again,  and  the  squire  points  a  finger  of  rage  and 
scorn  at  the  unmoved  offender  in  the  chair)  **  he  has 
bought  and  intimidated  men  to  do  his  bidding.  He  has 
sinned  against  heaven,  and  against  the  spirit  of  that  most 
immortal  of  documents  —  "  (Blank  again.  Most  unfor 
tunate  blank,  for  this  is  becoming  oratory,  but  somebody 
from  below  has  seized  the  squire  by  the  leg.)  Squire 
Northcutt  is  too  dignified  and  elderly  a  person  to  descend 
to  rough  and  tumble,  but  he  did  get  his  leg  liberated  and 
kicked  Fletcher  Bartlett  in  the  face.  Oh,  Coniston,  that 
such  scenes  should  take  place  in  your  town  meeting  I  By 
this  time  another  is  orating,  Mr.  Sam  Price,  Jackson 
Democrat.  There  was  no  shorthand  reporter  in  Coniston 
in  those  days,  and  it  is  just  as  well,  perhaps,  that  the 
accusations  and  recriminations  should  sink  into  oblivion. 
At  last,  by  mighty  efforts  of  the  peace  loving  in  both 
parties,  something  like  order  is  restored,  the  ballots  are  in 
the  box,  and  Deacon  Lysander  is  counting  them :  not  like 


60  CONISTON 

another  moderator  I  have  heard  of,  who  spilled  the  votes 
on  the  floor  until  his  own  man  was  elected.  No.  Had 
they  registered  his  own  death  sentence,  the  deacon  would 
have  counted  them  straight,  and  needed  no  town  clerk  to 
verify  his  figures.  But  when  he  came  to  pronounce  the 
vote,  shame  and  sorrow  and  mortification  overcame  him. 
Coniston,  his  native  town,  which  he  had  served  and 
revered,  was  dishonored,  and  it  was  for  him,  Lysander 
Richardson,  to  proclaim  her  disgrace.  The  deacon 
choked,  and  tears  of  bitterness  stood  in  his  eyes,  and  there 
came  a  silence  only  broken  by  the  surging  of  the  sleet  as 
he  rapped  on  the  table. 

"  Seventy-five  votes  have  been  cast  for  Jethro  Bass  — 
sixty-three  for  Moses  Hatch.  Necessary  for  a  choice, 
seventy  —  and  Jethro  Bass  is  elected  senior  Selectman." 

The  deacon  sat  down,  and  men  say  that  a  great  sob 
shook  him,  while  Jacksonian  Democracy  went  wild  —  not 
looking  into  future  years  to  see  what  they  were  going 
wild  about.  Jethro  Bass  Chairman  of  the  Board  of 
Selectmen,  in  the  honored  place  of  Deacon  Moses  Hatch! 
Bourbon  royalists  never  looked  with  greater  abhorrence 
on  the  Corsican  adventurer  and  usurper  of  the  throne 
than  did  the  orthodox  in  Coniston  on  this  tanner,  who  had 
earned  no  right  to  aspire  to  any  distinction,  and  who  by 
his  witas  had  acquired  the  highest  office  in  the  town  govern 
ment.  Fletcher  Bartlett  in,  as  a  leader  of  the  irresponsi 
ble  opposition,  would  have  been  calamity  enough.  But 
Jethro  Bass! 

This  man  whom  they  had  despised  was  the  master  mind 
who  had  organized  and  marshalled  the  loose  vote,  was  the 
author  of  that  ticket,  who  sat  in  his  corner  unmoved  alike 
by  the  congratulations  of  his  friends  and  the  maledic 
tions  of  his  enemies  ;  who  rose  to  take  his  oath  of  office 
as  unconcerned  as  though  the  house  were  empty,  albeit 
Deacon  Lysander  could  scarcely  get  the  words  out.  And 
then  Jethro  sat  down  again  in  his  chair  —  not  to  leave 
it  for  six  and  thirty  years.  From  this  time  forth  that 
chair  became  a  seat  of  power,  and  of  dominion  over  a 
state. 


THE  KING  IS  DEAD !  LONG  LIVE  THE  KING !     61 

Thus  it  was  that  Jock  HalloweU's  prophecy,  so  lightly 
uttered,  came  to  pass. 

How  the  remainder  of  that  Jacksonian  ticket  was 
elected,  down  to  the  very  hog-reeves,  and  amid  what  tur 
moil  of  the  Democracy  and  bitterness  of  spirit  of  the 
orthodox,  I  need  not  recount.  There  is  no  moral  to  the 
story,  alas  —  it  was  one  of  those  things  which  inscrutable 
heaven  permitted  to  be  done.  After  that  dark  town- 
meeting  day  some  of  those  stern  old  fathers  became  broken 
men,  and  it  is  said  in  Coniston  that  this  calamity  to  right 
eous  government,  and  not  the  storm,  gave  to  Priest  Ware 
his  death-stroke. 


CHAPTER  VI 

"  DEEP  AS  STBST  LOVE,  AND  WILD  WITH   ALL  REGRET  " 

AND  now  we  must  go  back  for  a  chapter  —  a  very  short 
chapter —  to  the  day  before  that  town  meeting  which  had 
so  momentous  an  influence  upon  the  history  of  Coniston 
and  of  the  state.  That  Monday,  too,  it  will  be  remem 
bered,  dawned  in  storm,  the  sleet  hissing  in  the  wide 
throats  of  the  centre-chimneys,  and  bearing  down  great 
boughs  of  trees  until  they  broke  in  agony.  Dusk  came 
early,  and  howling  darkness  that  hid  a  muffled  figure  on 
the  ice  bound  road  staring  at  the  yellow  cracks  in  the 
tannery  door.  Presently  the  figure  crossed  the  yard; 
the  door,  flying  open,  released  a  shaft  of  light  that  shot 
across  the  white  ground,  revealed  a  face  beneath  a  hood 
to  him  who  stood  within. 

"Jethro  I" 

She  darted  swiftly  past  him,  seizing  the  door  and  draw 
ing  it  closed  after  her.  A  lantern  hung  on  the  central 
post  and  flung  its  rays  upon  his  face.  Her  own,  merci 
fully,  was  in  the  shadow,  and  burning  now  with  a 
shame  that  was  insupportable.  Now  that  she  was  there, 
beside  him,  her  strength  failed  her,  and  her  courage  — 
courage  that  she  had  been  storing  for  this  dread  under 
taking  throughout  the  whole  of  that  dreadful  day.  Now 
that  she  was  there,  she  would  have  given  her  life  to  have 
been  able  to  retrace  her  steps,  to  lose  herself  in  the  wild, 
dark  places  of  the  mountain. 

"Cynthyl  "  His  voice  betrayed  the  passion  which  her 
presence  had  quickened. 

The  words  she  would  have  spoken  would  not  come. 
She  could  think  of  nothing  but  that  she  was  alone  with 

62 


"DEEP  AS  FIRST  LOVE"  63 

him,  and  in  bodily  terror  of  him.  She  turned  to  the  door 
again,  to  grasp  the  wooden  latch ;  but  he  barred  the  way, 
and  she  fell  back. 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  cried.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  come.  Do 
you  hear  ?  —  let  me  go!  " 

To  her  amazement  he  stepped  aside  —  a  most  unaccount 
able  action  for  him.  More  unaccountable  still,  she  did 
not  move,  now  that  she  was  free,  but  stood  poised  for 
flight,  held  by  she  knew  not  what. 

"G-go  if  you've  a  mind  to,  Cynthy  —  if  you've  a  mind 
to." 

"  I-I've  come  to  say  something  to  you,"  she  faltered. 
It  was  not  at  all  the  way  she  had  pictured  herself  as 
saying  it. 

"  H -haven't  took  Moses  —  have  you  ?  " 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "do  you  think  I  came  here  to  speak 
of  such  a  thing  as  that  ?  " 

"  H-haven't  took — Moses,  have  you  ?  " 

She  was  trembling,  and  yet  she  could  almost  have 
smiled  at  this  well-remembered  trick  of  pertinacity. 

"No,"  she  said,  and  immediately  hated  herself  for 
answering  him. 

"  H-haven't  took  that  Worthington  cuss  ?  " 

He  was  jealous  I 

"I didn't  come  to  discuss  Mr.  Worthington,"  she 
replied. 

"  Folks  say  it's  only  a  matter  of  time,"  said  he.  "  Made 
up  your  mind  to  take  him,  Cynthy?  M-made  up  your 
mind?" 

"  You've  no  right  to  talk  to  me  in  this  way,"  she  said, 
and  added,  the  words  seeming  to  slip  of  themselves  from 
her  lips,  "  Why  do  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Because  I'm  —  interested,"  he  said. 

"  You  haven't  shown  it,"  she  flashed  back,  forgetting  the 
place,  and  the  storm,  and  her  errand  even,  forgetting  that 
Jake  Wheeler,  or  any  one  in  Coniston,  might  come  and 
surprise  her  there. 

He  took  a  step  toward  her,  and  she  retreated.  The 
light  struck  her  face,  and  he  bent  over  her  as  though 


64  CONISTON 

searching  it  for  a  sign.  The  cape  on  her  shoulders  rose 
and  fell  as  she  breathed. 

"  'Twahn't  charity,  Cynthy  —  was  it  ?  'Twahn't  char 
ity  ?  " 

"  It  was  you  who  called  it  such,"  she  answered,  in  a  low 
voice. 

A  sleet-charged  gust  hurled  itself  against  the  door,  and 
the  lantern  flickered. 

"  Wahn't  it  charity  ?  " 

"  It  was  friendship,  Jethro.  You  ought  to  have  known 
that,  and  you  should  not  have  brought  back  the  book." 

"Friendship,"  he  repeated,  "y-you  said  friendship  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  M-meant  friendship  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Cynthia,  but  more  faintly,  and  yet  with  a 
certain  delicious  fright  as  she  glanced  at  him  shyly.  Surely 
there  had  never  been  a  stranger  man  1  Now  he  was 
apparently  in  a  revery. 

"  G-guess  it's  because  I'm  not  good  enough  to  be  any 
thing  more,"  he  remarked  suddenly.  "  Is  that  it  ?  " 

"  You  have  not  tried  even  to  be  a  friend,"  she  said. 

"  H-how  about  Worthington  ?  "  he  persisted.  "  Just 
friends  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  won't  talk  about  Mr.  Worthington,"  cried  Cynthia, 
desperately,  and  retreated  toward  the  lantern  again. 

"  J-just  friends  with  Worthington  ?  " 

"Why?"  she  asked,  her  words  barely  heard  above  the 
gust,  "  why  do  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

He  came  after  her.  It  was  as  if  she  had  summoned 
some  unseen,  uncontrollable  power,  only  to  be  appalled  by 
it,  and  the  mountain-storm  without  seemed  the  symbol  of 
it.  His  very  voice  seemed  to  partake  of  its  strength. 

"  Cynthy,"  he  said,  "  if  you'd  took  him,  I'd  have  killed 
him.  Cynthy,  I  love  you  —  I  want  you  to  be  my  woman — " 

"  Your  woman  !  " 

He  caught  her,  struggling  wildly,  terror-stricken,  in 
his  arms,  beat  down  her  hands,  flung  back  her  hood,  and 
kissed  her  forehead  —  her  hair,  blown  by  the  wind  —  her 
lips.  In  that  moment  she  felt  the  mystery  of  heaven  and 


"DEEP  AS  FIRST  LOVE"  65 

hell,  of  all  kinds  of  power.  In  that  moment  she  was  like 
a  seed  flying  in  the  storm  above  the  mountain  spruces  — 
whither,  she  knew  not,  cared  not.  There  was  one  thought 
that  drifted  across  the  chaos  like  a  blue  light  of  the  spirit : 
Could  she  control  the  storm  ?  Could  she  say  whither  the 
winds  might  blow,  where  the  seed  might  be  planted  ?  Then 
she  found  herself  listening,  struggling  no  longer,  for  he 
held  her  powerless.  Strangest  of  all,  most  hopeful  of  all, 
his  own  mind  was  working,  though  his  soul  rocked  with 
passion. 

"  Cynthy  —  ever  sence  we  stopped  that  day  on  the  road 
in  Northcutt's  woods,  I've  thought  of  nothin'  but  to  marry 
you  —  m-marry  you.  Then  you  give  me  that  book — I 
nain't  had  much  education,  but  it  come  across  me  if  you 
was  to  help  me  that  way —  And  when  I  seed  you  with 
Worthington,  I  could  have  killed  him  easy  as  breakin' 
bark." 

"  Hush,  Jethro." 

She  struggled  free  and  leaped  away  from  him,  panting, 
while  he  tore  open  his  coat  and  drew  forth  something 
which  gleamed  in  the  lantern's  rays — a  silver  locket. 
Cynthia  scarcely  saw  it.  Her  blood  was  throbbing  in  her 
temples,  she  could  not  reason,  but  she  knew  that  the 
appeal  for  the  sake  of  which  she  had  stooped  must  be 
delivered  now. 

"Jethro,"  she  said,  "do  you  know  why  I  came  here  — 
why  I  came  to  you  f  " 

"No,"  he  said.  "No.  W-wanted  me,  didn't  you? 
Wanted  me — I  wanted  you,  Cynthy.  ** 

"  I  would  never  have  come  to  you  for  that,"  she  cried, 
"  never" 

"  L-love  me,  Cynthy  —  love  me,  don't  you  ?  " 

How  could  he  ask,  seeing  that  she  had  been  in  his  arms, 
and  had  not  fled  ?  And  yet  she  must  go  through  with 
what  she  had  come  to  do,  at  any  cost. 

"  Jethro,  I  have  come  to  speak  to  you  about  the  town 
meeting  to-morrow." 

He  halted  as  though  he  had  been  struck,  his  hand  tight- 
ening  over  the  locket. 


66  CONISTON 

"T-townmeetin'?" 

"  Yes.  All  this  new  organization  is  your  doing,''  she 
cried.  "  Do  you  think  that  I  am  foolish  enough  to  believe 
that  Fletcher  Bartlett  or  Sam  Price  planned  this  thing  ? 
No,  Jethro.  I  know  who  has  done  it,  and  I  could  have 
told  them  if  they  had  asked  me." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  the  light  of  a  new  admiration 
was  in  his  eye. 

"  Knowed  it  —  did  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  a  little  defiantly,  "  I  did." 

"  H-how'd  you  know  it  —  how'd  you  know  it,  Cynthy  ?  " 
How  did  she  know  it,  indeed? 

"  I  guessed  it,"  said  Cynthia,  desperately,  "  knowing  you, 
I  guessed  it." 

"  A-always  thought  you  was  smart,  Cynthy." 

"  Tell  me,  did  you  do  this  thing  ?  " 

"Th-thought  you  knowed  it — th- thought  you  knowed 
it." 

"I  believe  that  these  men  are  doing  your  bidding." 

"  Hain't  you  guessin'  a  little  mite  too  much,  Cynthy  ?  " 

"Jethro,"  she  said,  "you  told  me  just  now  that  —  that 
you  loved  me.  Don't  touch  me !  "  she  cried,  when  he 
would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms  again.  "  If  you  love 
me,  you  will  tell  me  why  you  have  done  such  a  thing." 

What  instinct  there  was  in  the  man  which  forbade  him 
speaking  out  to  her,  I  know  not.  I  do  believe  that  he 
would  have  confessed,  if  he  could.  Isaac  Worthington  had 
been  impelled  to  reveal  his  plans  and  aspirations,  but  Jethro 
Bass  was  as  powerless  in  this  supreme  moment  of  his  life 
as  was  Coniston  Mountain  to  move  the  granite  on  which  it 
stood.  Cynthia's  heart  sank,  and  a  note  of  passionate 
appeal  came  into  her  voice. 

"  Oh,  Jethro!  "  she  cried,  "  this  is  not  the  way  to  use  your 
power,  to  compel  men  like  Eben  Williams  and  Samuel 
Todd  and  —  and  Lyman  Hull,  who  is  a  drunkard  and  a 
vagabond,  to  come  in  and  vote  for  those  who  are  not  fit  to 
hold  office."  She  was  using  the  minister's  own  arguments. 
"  We  have  always  had  clean  men,  and  honorable  and  good 
men." 


«  DEEP  AS  FIEST  LOVE  »  67 

He  did  not  speak,  but  dropped  his  hands  to  his  sides. 
His  thoughts  were  not  to  be  fathomed,  yet  Cynthia  took 
the  movement  for  silent  confession,  —  which  it  was  not, — 
and  stood  appalled  at  the  very  magnitude  of  his  accom 
plishment,  astonished  at  the  secrecy  he  had  maintained. 
She  had  heard  that  his  name  had  been  mentioned  in  the 
meeting  at  the  house  of  Moses  Hatch  as  having  taken  part 
in  the  matter,  and  she  guessed  something  of  certain 
of  his  methods.  But  she  had  felt  his  force,  and  knew  that 
this  was  not  the  only  secret  of  his  power. 

What  might  he  not  aspire  to,  if  properly  guided  ?  No, 
she  did  not  believe  him  to  be  unscrupulous  —  but  merely 
ignorant:  a  man  who  was  capable  of  such  love  as  she  felt 
was  in  him,  a  man  whom  she  could  love,  could  not  mean  to 
be  unscrupulous.  Defence  of  him  leaped  to  her  own  lips. 

"  You  did  not  know  what  you  were  doing,"  she  said.  "  I 
was  sure  of  it,  or  I  would  not  have  come  to  you.  Oh,  Jethro ! 
you  must  stop  it  —  you  must  prevent  this  election." 

Her  eyes  met  his,  her  own  pleading,  and  the  very  wind 
without  seemed  to  pause  for  his  answer.  But  what  she 
asked  was  impossible.  That  wind  which  he  himself  had 
loosed,  which  was  to  topple  over  institutions,  was  rising, 
and  he  could  no  more  have  stopped  it  then  than  he  could 
have  hushed  the  storm. 

"  You  will  not  do  what  I  ask  —  now  ?  "  she  said,  very 
slowly.  Then  her  voice  failed  her,  she  drew  her  hands 
together,  and  it  was  as  if  her  heart  had  ceased  to  beat. 
Sorrow  and  anger  and  fierce  shame  overwhelmed  her,  and 
she  turned  from  him  in  silence  and  went  to  the  door. 

"  Cynthy,"  he  cried  hoarsely,  "  Cynthy !  " 

"  You  must  never  speak  to  me  again,"  she  said,  and  was 
gone  into  the  storm. 

Yes,  she  had  failed.  But  she  did  not  know  that  she  had 
left  something  behind  which  he  treasured  as  long  as  he 
lived. 


In  the  spring,  when  the  new  leaves  were  green  on  the 
slopes  of  Coniston,  Priest  Ware  ended  a  life  of   faithful 


68  CONISTON 

service.  The  high  pulpit,  taken  from  the  old  meeting 
house,  and  the  cricket  on  which  he  used  to  stand  and  the 
Bible  from  which  he  used  to  preach  have  remained  objects 
of  veneration  in  Coniston  to  this  day.  A  fortnight  later 
many  tearful  faces  gazed  after  the  Truro  coach  as  it  gal 
loped  out  of  Brampton  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  one  there 
was,  watching  unseen  from  the  spruces  on  the  hill,  who 
saw  within  it  a  girl  dressed  in  black,  dry-eyed,  staring 
from  the  window. 


CHAPTER  VII 

i 

"AND  STILL  THE   AGES   BOLL,   UNMOVED" 

Our  of  the  stump  of  a  blasted  tree  in  the  Coniston 
woods  a  flower  will  sometimes  grow,  and  even  so  the 
story  which  I  have  now  to  tell  springs  from  the  love  of 
Cynthia  Ware  and  Jethro  Bass.  The  flower,  when  it 
came  to  bloom,  was  fair  in  life,  and  I  hope  that  in  these 
pages  it  will  not  lose  too  much  of  its  beauty  and  sweetness. 

For  a  littU  while  we  are  going  to  gallop  through  the 
years  as  before  we  have  ambled  through  the  days,  al 
though  the  reader's  breath  may  be  taken  away  in  the 
process.  How  Cynthia  Ware  went  over  the  Truro  Pass 
to  Boston,  and  how  she  became  a  teacher  in  a  high  school 
there,  —  largely  through  the  kindness  of  that  Miss  Lucre- 
tia  Penniman  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  who  wrote  in 
Cynthia's  behalf  to  certain  friends  she  had  in  that  city ; 
how  she  met  one  William  Wetherell,  no  longer  a  clerk  in 
Mr.  Judson's  jewellery  shop,  but  a  newspaper  man  with  I 
know  not  what  ambitions  —  and  limitations  in  strength 
of  body  and  will;  how,  many,  many  years  afterward,  she 
nursed  him  tenderly  through  a  sickness  and  —  married 
him,  is  all  told  in  a  paragraph.  Marry  him  she  did,  to 
take  care  of  him,  and  told  him  so.  She  made  no  secret  of 
the  maternal  in  this  love. 

One  evening,  the  summer  after  their  marriage,  they 
were  walking  in  the  Mall  under  the  great  elms  that 
border  the  Common  on  the  Tremont  Street  side.  They 
often  used  to  wander  there,  talking  of  the  books  he  was 
to  write  when  strength  should  come  and  a  little  leisure, 
and  sometimes  their  glances  would  linger  longingly  on 

69 


70  CONISTON 

Colonnade  Row  that  Bulfinch  built  across  the  way,  where 
dwelt  the  rich  and  powerful  of  the  city  —  and  yet  he 
would  not  have  exchanged  their  lot  for  his.  Could  he 
have  earned  with  his  own  hands  such  a  house,  and  set 
Cynthia  there  in  glory,  what  happiness  !  But,  I  stray. 

They  were  walking  in  the  twilight,  for  the  sun  had 
sunk  all  red  in  the  marshes  of  the  Charles,  when  there 
chanced  along  a  certain  Mr.  Judson,  a  jeweller,  taking 
the  air  likewise.  So  there  came  into  Wetherell's  mind  that 
amusing  adventure  with  the  country  lad  and  the  locket. 
His  name,  by  reason  of  some  strange  quality  in  it,  he  had 
never  forgotten,  and  suddenly  he  recalled  that  the  place 
the  countryman  had  come  from  was  Coniston. 

"  Cynthia,"  said  her  husband,  when  Mr.  Judson  was 
gone,  "  did  you  know  any  one  in  Coniston  named  Jethro 
Bass  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  him.  And,  thinking  she  had  not 
heard,  he  spoke  again. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  without 
looking  at  him. 

He  told  her  the  story.  Not  until  the  end  of  it  did  the 
significance  of  the  name  engraved  come  to  him  —  Cynthy. 
"  Cynthy,  from  Jethro." 

"  Why,  it  might  have  been  you  !  "  he  said  jestingly. 
"  Was  he  an  admirer  of  yours,  Cynthia,  that  strange,  un 
couth  countryman  ?  Did  he  give  you  the  locket  ?  " 

"No,"  she  answered,  "he  never  did." 

Wetherell  glanced  at  her  in  surprise,  and  saw  that  her 
lip  was  quivering,  that  tears  were  on  her  lashes.  She  laid 
her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  William,"  she  said,  drawing  him  to  a  bench,  "  come, 
let  us  sit  down,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  story  of  Jethro 
Bass.  We  have  been  happy  together,  you  and  I,  for  I 
have  found  peace  with  you.  I  have  tried  to  be  honest 
with  you,  William,  and  I  will  always  be  so.  I  told  you 
before  we  were  married  that  I  loved  another  man.  I  have 
tried  to  forget  him,  but  as  God  is  my  judge,  I  cannot. 
I  believe  I  shall  love  him  until  I  die." 

They    sat    in    the    summer    twilight,    until    darkness 


71 


72  CONISTON 

fell,  and  the  lights  gleamed  through  the  leaves,  and 
a  deep,  cool  breath  coming  up  from  the  sea  stirred  the 
leaves  above  their  heads.  That  she  should  have  loved 
Jethro  seemed  as  strange  to  her  as  to  him,  and  yet  Weth- 
erell  was  to  feel  the  irresistible  force  of  him.  Hers  was 
not  a  love  that  she  chose,  or  would  have  chosen,  but  some 
thing  elemental  that  cried  out  from  the  man  to  her,  and 
drew  her.  Something  that  had  in  it  now,  as  of  yore, 
much  of  pain  and  even  terror,  but  drew  her.  Strangest 
of  all  was  that  William  Wetherell  understood  and  was  not 
jealous  of  this  thing :  which  leads  us  to  believe  that  some 
essence  of  virility  was  lacking  in  him,  some  substance  that 
makes  the  fighters  and  conquerors  in  this  world.  In 
such  mood  he  listened  to  the  story  of  Jethro  Bass. 

"  My  dear  husband,"  said  Cynthia,  when  she  had  finished, 
her  hand  tightening  over  his,  "  I  have  never  told  you  this 
for  fear  that  it  might  trouble  you  as  it  has  troubled  me. 
I  have  found  in  your  love  sanctuary,  and  all  that  remains 
of  myself  I  have  given  to  you." 

"  You  have  found  a  weakling  to  protect,  and  an  invalid 
to  nurse,"  he  answered.  "  To  have  your  compassion, 
Cynthia,  is  all  I  crave." 


So  they  lived  through  the  happiest  and  swiftest  years  of 
his  life,  working  side  by  side,  sharing  this  strange  secret 
between  them.  And  after  that  night  Cynthia  talked  to 
him  often  of  Coniston,  until  he  came  to  know  the  moun 
tain  that  lay  along  the  western  sky,  and  the  sweet  hill 
sides  by  Coniston  Water  under  the  blue  haze  of  autumn, 
aye,  and  clothed  in  the  colors  of  spring,  the  bright  blos 
soms  of  thorn  and  apple  against  the  tender  green  of  the 
woods  and  fields.  So  he  grew  to  love  the  simple  people 
there,  but  little  did  he  foresee  that  he  was  to  end  his  life 
among  them  ! 

But  so  it  came  to  pass.  She  was  taken  from  him,  who 
had  been  the  one  joy  and  inspiration  of  his  weary  days, 
and  he  was  driven,  wandering,  into  unfrequented  streets 
that  he  might  not  recall  the  places  where  she  had  once 


"AND  STILL  THE  AGES  ROLL,  UNMOVED"      73 

trod,  and  through  the  wakeful  nights  her  voice  haunted 
him, — its  laughter,  its  sweet  notes  of  seriousness;  little 
ways  and  manners  of  her  look  came  to  twist  his  heart, 
and  he  prayed  God  to  take  him,  too,  until  it  seemed  that 
Cynthia  frowned  upon  him  for  his  weakness.  One  mild 
Sunday  afternoon,  he  took  little  Cynthia  by  the  hand  and 
led  her,  toddling,  out  into  the  sunny  Common,  where  he 
used  to  walk  with  her  mother,  and  the  infant  prattle 
seemed  to  bring  at  last  a  strange  peace  to  his  storm-tossed 
soul. 

For  many  years  these  Sunday  walks  in  the  Common 
were  Wetherell's  greatest  pleasure  and  solace,  and  it 
seemed  as  though  little  Cynthia  had  come  into  the  world 
with  an  instinct,  as  it  were,  of  her  mission  that  lent  to 
her  infant  words  a  sweet  gravity  and  weight.  Many 
people  used  to  stop  and  speak  to  the  child,  among  them 
a  great  physician  whom  they  grew  to  know.  He  was 
there  every  Sunday,  and  at  length  it  came  to  be  a  habit 
with  him  to  sit  down  on  the  bench  and  take  Cynthia  on  his 
knee,  and  his  stern  face  would  soften  as  he  talked  to  her. 

One  Sunday  when  Cynthia  was  eight  years  old  he 
missed  them,  and  the  next,  and  at  dusk  he  strode  into 
their  little  lodging  behind  the  hill  and  up  to  the  bedside. 
He  glanced  at  Wetherell,  patting  Cynthia  on  the  head 
the  while,  and  bade  her  cheerily  to  go  out  of  the  room. 
But  she  held  tight  hold  of  her  father's  hand  and  looked 
up  at  the  doctor  bravely. 

"  I  am  taking  care  of  my  father,"  she  said. 

"  So  you  shall,  little  woman,"  he  answered.  "  I  would 
that  we  had  such  nurses  as  you  at  the  hospital.  Why 
didn't  you  send  for  me  at  once?" 

"  I  wanted  to,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  Bless  her  good  sense,"  said  the  doctor  ;  "  she  has  more 
than  you,  Wetherell.  Why  didn't  you  take  her  advice  ? 
If  your  father  does  not  do  as  I  tell  him,  he  will  be  a  very 
sick  man  indeed.  He  must  go  into  the  country  and  stay 
there." 

"  But  I  must  live,  Doctor,"  said  William  Wetherell. 

The  doctor  looked  at  Cynthia. 


''  Led  her,  toddling,  out  into  the  sunny  Common." 


74 


"AND  STILL  THE  AGES  ROLL,  UNMOVED"     75 

"  You  will  not  live  if  you  stay  here,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  he  will  go,"  said  Cynthia,  so  quietly  that  he  gave 
her  another  look,  strange  and  tender  and  comprehending. 
He  sat  and  talked  of  many  things  :  of  the  great  war  that 
was  agonizing  the  nation  ;  of  the  strong  man  who,  harassed 
and  suffering  himself,  was  striving  to  guide  it,  likening 
Lincoln  unto  a  physician.  So  the  doctor  was  wont  to  take 
the  minds  of  patients  from  themselves.  And  before  he  left 
he  gave  poor  Wetherell  a  fortnight  to  decide. 

As  he  lay  on  his  back  in  that  room  among  the  chimney 
tops  trying  vainly  to  solve  the  problem  of  how  he  was  to 
earn  his  salt  in  the  country,  a  visitor  was  climbing  the 
last  steep  flight  of  stairs.  That  visitor  was  none  other 
than  Sergeant  Ephraim  Prescott,  son  of  Isaiah  of  the  pitch- 
pipe,  and  own  cousin  of  Cynthia  Ware's.  Sergeant  Ephraim 
was  just  home  from  the  war  and  still  clad  in  blue,  and  he 
walked  with  a  slight  limp  by  reason  of  a  bullet  he  had 
got  in  the  Wilderness,  and  he  had  such  an  honest,  genial 
face  that  little  Cynthia  was  on  his  knee  in  a  moment. 

"  How  be  you,  Will  ?  Kind  of  poorly,  I  callate.  So 
Cynthy's  b'en  took,"  he  said  sadly.  "  Always  thought  a 
sight  of  Cynthy.  Little  Cynthy  favors  her  some.  Yes, 
thought  I'd  drop  in  and  see  how  you  be  on  my  way  home." 

Sergeant  Ephraim  had  much  to  say  about  the  great  war, 
and  about  Coniston.  True  to  the  instincts  of  the  blood  of 
the  Stark  hero,  he  had  left  the  plough  and  the  furrow  at 
the  first  call,  forty  years  of  age  though  he  was.  But  it 
had  been  otherwise  with  many  in  Coniston  and  Brampton 
and  Harwich.  Some  of  these,  when  the  drafting  came,  had 
fled  in  bands  to  the  mountain  and  defied  capture.  Mr. 
Dudley  Worthington,  now  a  mill  owner,  had  found  a  sub 
stitute;  Heth  Sutton  of  Clovelly  had  been  drafted  and 
had  driven  over  the  mountain  to  implore  Jethro  Bass 
abjectly  to  get  him  out  of  it.  In  short,  many  funny 
things  had  happened  —  funny  things  to  Sergeant  Ephraim, 
but  not  at  all  to  William  Wetherell,  who  sympathized 
with  Heth  in  his  panic. 

"  So  Jethro  Bass  has  become  a  great  man,"  said 
Wetherell. 


76  CONISTON 

"  Great !  "  Ephraim  ejaculated.  "  Guess  he's  the  biggest 
man  in  the  state  to-day.  Queer  how  he  got  his  power  — 
began  twenty-four  years  ago  when  I  wahn't  but  twenty. 
I  call  that  town  meetin'  to  mind  as  if  'twas  yesterday — 
never  was  such  an  upset.  Jethro's  be'n  first  Selectman 
ever  sence,  though  he  turned  Republican  in  '60.  Old 
folks  don't  fancy  Jethro's  kind  of  politics  much,  but  times 
change.  Jethro  saved  my  life,  I  guess." 

"  Saved  your  life  !  "  exclaimed  Wetherell. 

"  Got  me  a  furlough,"  said  Ephraim.  "  Guess  I  would 
have  died  in  the  hospital  if  he  hadn't  got  it  so  all-fired 
quick,  and  he  druv  down  to  Brampton  to  fetch  me  back. 
You'd  have  thought  I  was  General  Grant  the  way  folks 
treated  me." 

"  You  went  back  to  the  war  after  your  leg  healed  ?  " 
Wetherell  asked,  in  wondering  admiration  of  the  man's 
courage. 

"  Well,"  said  Ephraim,  simply,  "  the  other  boys  was 
gettin'  full  of  bullets  and  dysentery,  and  it  didn't  seem 
just  right.  The  leg  troubles  me  some  on  wet  days,  but 
not  to  amount  to  much.  You  hain't  thinkin'  of  dyin' 
yourself,  be  ye,  William  ?  " 

William  was  thinking  very  seriously  of  it,  but  it  was 
Cynthia  who  spoke,  and  startled  them  both. 

"  The  doctor  says  he  will  die  if  he  doesn't  go  to  the 
country." 

"Somethin'  like  consumption,  William?"  asked 
Ephraim. 

"So  the  doctor  said." 

"  So  I  callated,"  said  Ephraim.  "  Come  back  to  Conis- 
ton  with  me;  there  hain't  a  healthier  place  in  New  England." 

"  How  could  I  support  myself  in  Coniston  ?  "  Wetherell 
asked. 

Ephraim  ruminated.  Suddenly  he  stuck  his  hand  into 
the  bosom  of  his  blue  coat,  and  his  face  lighted  and  even 
flushed  as  he  drew  out  a  crumpled  letter. 

"  It  don't  take  much  gumption  to  run  a  store,  does  it, 
William  ?  Guess  you  could  run  a  store,  couldn't  you  ?  " 

"  I  would  try  anything,"  said  Wetherell. 


"AND  STILL  THE  AGES  KOLL,  UNMOVED"     77 

"  Well,"  said  Ephraim,  "  there's  the  store  at  Coniston. 
With  folks  goin'  West,  and  all  that,  nobody  seems  to  want 
it  much."  He  looked  at  the  letter.  "Lem  Hallowell 
says  there  hain't  nobody  to  take  it." 

"  Jonah  Winch's  I  "  exclaimed  Wetherell. 

"  Jonah  made  it  go,  but  that  was  before  all  this  hullaba 
loo  about  Temperance  Cadets  and  what  not.  Jonah  sold 
food  rum,  but  now  you  can't  get  nothin'  in  Coniston  but 
ard  cider  and  potato  whiskey.  Still,  it's  the  place  for 
somebody  without  much  get-up,"  and  he  eyed  his  cousin 
by  marriage.  "Better  come  and  try  it,  William." 

So  much  for  dreams  !  Instead  of  a  successor  to  Irving 
and  Emerson,  William  Wetherell  became  a  successor  to 
Jonah  Winch. 

That  journey  to  Coniston  was  full  of  wonder  to  Cynthia, 
and  of  wonder  and  sadness  to  Wetherell,  for  it  was  the 
way  his  other  Cynthia  had  come  to  Boston.  From  the 
state  capital  the  railroad  followed  the  same  deep  valley 
as  the  old  coach  road,  but  ended  at  Truro,  and  then  they 
took  stage  over  Truro  Pass  for  Brampton,  where  honest 
Ephraim  awaited  them  and  their  slender  luggage  with  a 
team.  Brampton,  with  its  wide-shadowed  green,  and 
terrace-steepled  church ;  home  once  of  the  Social 
Library  and  Lucretia  Penniman,  now  famous ;  home 
now  of  Isaac  Dudley  Worthington,  whose  great  mills  the 
stage  driver  had  pointed  out  to  them  on  Coniston  Water  as 
they  entered  the  town. 

Then  came  a  drive  through  the  cool  evening  to  Conis 
ton,  Ephraim  showing  them  landmarks.  There  was  Deacon 
Lysander's  house,  where  little  Rias  Richardson  lived  now  ; 
and  on  that  slope  and  hidden  in  its  forest  nook,  among  the 
birches  and  briers,  the  little  schoolhouse  where  Cynthia 
had  learned  to  spell  ;  here,  where  the  road  made  an  aisle 
in  the  woods,  she  had  met  Jethro.  The  choir  of  the 
birds  was  singing  an  evening  anthem  now  as  then,  to  the 
lower  notes  of  Coniston  Water,  and  the  moist,  hothouse 
fragrance  of  the  ferns  rose  from  the  deep  places. 

At  last  they  came  suddenly  upon  the  little  hamlet  of 


78  CONISTON 

Coniston  itself.  There  was  the  flagpole  and  the  triangu 
lar  green,  scene  of  many  a  muster  ;  Jonah  Winch's  s*  ore, 
with  its  horse  block  and  checker-paned  windows,  just 
as  Jonah  had  left  it ;  Nathan  Bass's  tannery  shed,  now 
weather-stained  and  neglected,  for  Jethro  lived  on  Thou 
sand  Acre  Hill  now;  the  Prescott  house,  home  of  the  Stark 
hero,  where  Ephraim  lived,  "  innocent  of  paint "  (as  one  of 
Coniston's  sons  has  put  it),  "  innocent  of  paint  as  a  Con 
iston  maiden's  face";  the  white  meeting-house,  where 
Priest  Ware  had  preached  —  and  the  parsonage.  Cyn 
thia  and  Wetherell  loitered  in  front  of  it,  while  the  blue 
shadow  of  the  mountain  deepened  into  night,  until  Mr. 
Satterlee,  the  minister,  found  them  there,  and  they  went 
in  and  stood  reverently  in  the  little  chamber  on  the  right 
of  the  door,  which  had  been  Cynthia's. 

Long  Wetherell  lay  awake  that  night,  in  his  room  at 
the  gable-end  over  the  store,  listening  to  the  rustling  of 
the  great  oak  beside  the  windows,  to  the  whippoorwills 
calling  across  Coniston  Water.  But  at  last  a  peace 
descended  upon  him,  and  he  slept:  yes,  and  awoke  with 
the  same  sense  of  peace  at  little  Cynthia's  touch,  to  go  out 
into  the  cool  morning,  when  the  mountain  side  was  in 
myriad  sheens  of  green  under  the  rising  sun.  Behind  the 
store  was  an  old-fashioned  garden,  set  about  by  a  neat 
stone  wall,  hidden  here  and  there  by  the  masses  of 
lilac  and  currant  bushes,  and  at  the  south  of  it  was 
a  great  rose-covered  boulder  of  granite.  And  beyond, 
through  the  foliage  of  the  willows  and  the  low 
apple  trees  which  Jonah  Winch  had  set  out,  Coniston 
Water  gleamed  and  tumbled.  Under  an  arching  elm  near 
the  house  was  the,  well,  stone-rimmed,  with  its  long  pole 
and  crotch,  and  bucket  all  green  with  the  damp  moss 
which  clung  to  it. 

Ephraim  Prescott  had  been  right  when  he  had  declared 
that  it  did  not  take  much  gumption  to  keep  store  in 
Coniston.  William  Wetherell  merely  assumed  certain 
obligations  at  the  Brampton  bank,  and  Lem  Hallowell, 
Jock's  son,  who  now  drove  the  Brampton  stage,  brought 
the  goods  to  the  door.  Little  Rias  Richardson  was  will- 


"AND  STILL  THE  AGES  BOLL,  UNMOVED"     79 

ing  to  come  in  and  help  move  the  barrels,  and  on  such 
occasions  wore  carpet  slippers  to  save  his  shoes.  William 
still  had  time  for  his  books;  in  that  Coniston  air  he 
began  to  feel  stronger,  and  to  wonder  whether  he  might 
not  be  a  Washington  Irving  yet.  And  yet  he  had  one 
worry  and  one  fear,  and  both  of  these  concerned  one  man, 

—  Jethro  Bass.     Him,  by  her  own  confession,  Cynthia 
Ware  had  loved  to  her  dying  day,  hating  herself  for  it: 
and   he,   William    Wetherell,   had   married   this   woman 
whom  Jethro  had  loved  so  violently,  and  must  always  love 

—  so  Wetherell  thought:  that  was  the  worry.     How  would 
Jethro  treat  him  ?  that  was  the  fear.     William  Wetherell 
was  not  the  most  courageous  man  in  the  world. 

Jethro  Bass  had  not  been  in  Coniston  since  William's 
arrival.  No  need  to  ask  where  he  was.  Jake  Wheeler, 
Jethro's  lieutenant  in  Coniston,  gave  William  a  glowing 
account  of  that  Throne  Room  in  the  Pelican  Hotel  at  the 
capital,  from  whence  Jethro  ruled  the  state  during  the 
sessions  of  the  General  Court.  This  legislature  sat  to  him 
as  a  sort  of  advisory  committee  of  three  hundred  and  fifty : 
an  expensive  advisory  committee  to  the  people,  relic  of 
an  obsolete  form  of  government.  Many  stories  of  the 
now  all-powerful  Jethro  William  heard  from  the  little 
coterie  which  made  their  headquarters  in  his  store — stories 
of  how  those  methods  of  which  we  have  read  were  gradu 
ally  spread  over  other  towns  and  other  counties.  Not 
that  Jethro  held  mortgages  in  these  towns  and  counties, 
but  the  local  lieutenants  did,  and  bowed  to  him  as  an 
overlord.  There  were  funny  stories,  and  grim  stories  of 
vengeance  which  William  Wetherell  heard  and  trembled 
at.  Might  not  Jethro  wish  to  take  vengeance  upon 
him? 

One  story  he  did  not  hear,  because  no  one  in  Coniston 
knew  it.  No  one  knew  that  Cynthia  Ware  and  Jethro 
Bass  had  ever  loved  each  other. 

At  last,  toward  the  end  of  June,  it  was  noised  about 
that  the  great  man  was  coming  home  for  a  few  days.  One 
beautiful  afternoon  William  Wetherell  stood  on  the  plat 
form  of  the  store,  looking  off  at  Coniston,  talking  to  Moses 


80  CONISTON 

Hatch  —  young  Moses,  who  is  father  of  six  children  now 
and  has  forgotten  Cynthia  Ware.  Old  Moses  sleeps  on 
the  hillside,  let  us  hope  in  the  peace  of  the  orthodox  and 
the  righteous.  A  cloud  of  dust  arose  above  the  road  to 
the  southward,  and  out  of  it  came  a  country  wagon  drawn 
by  a  fat  horse,  and  in  the  wagon  the  strangest  couple 
Wetherell  had  ever  seen.  The  little  woman  who  sat  re 
tiringly  at  one  end  of  the  seat  was  all  in  brilliant  colors 
from  bonnet  to  flounce,  like  a  paroquet,  red  and  green 
predominating.  The  man,  big  in  build,  large-headed, 
wore  an  old-fashioned  blue  swallow-tailed  coat  with  brass 
buttons,  a  stock,  and  coonskin  hat,  though  it  was  summer, 
and  the  thumping  of  William  Wetherell's  heart  told  him 
that  this  was  Jethro  Bass.  He  nodded  briefly  at  Moses 
Hatch,  who  greeted  him  with  genial  obsequiousness. 

"  Legislatur'  through  ?  "  shouted  Moses. 

The  great  man  shook  his  head  and  drove  on. 

"  Has  Jethro  Bass  ever  been  a  member  of  the  Legisla 
ture  ?  "  asked  the  storekeeper,  for  the  sake  of  something 
to  say. 

"Never  would  take  any  office  but  Chairman  of  the 
Selectmen,"  answered  Moses,  who  apparently  bore  no 
ill  will  for  his  father's  sake.  "Jethro  kind  of  fathers 
the  Legislatur',  I  guess,  though  I  don't  take  much  stock 
in  politics.  Goes  down  sessions  to  see  that  they  don't 
get  too  gumptious  and  kick  off  the  swaddlin'  clothes." 

"And  —  was  that  his  wife?"  Wetherell  asked,  hesi 
tatingly. 

"  Aunt  Listy,  they  call  her.  Nobody  ever  knew  how  he 
come  to  marry  her.  Jethro  went  up  to  Wisdom  once,  in 
the  centre  of  the  state,  and  come  back  with  her.  Funny 
place  to  bring  a  wife  from  —  Wisdom  !  Funnier  place  to 
bring  Listy  from.  He  loads  her  down  with  them  ribbons 
and  gewgaws  —  all  the  shades  of  the  rainbow  !  Says  he 
wants  her  to  be  the  best-dressed  woman  in  the  state. 
Callate  she  is,"  added  Moses,  with  conviction.  "  Listy's 
a  fine  woman,  but  all  she  knows  is  enough  to  say,  '  Yes, 
Jethro,'  and  '  No,  Jethro.'  Guess  that's  all  Jethro  wants 
in  a  wife  ;  but  he  certainly  is  good  to  her." 


"AND  STILL  THE  AGES  BOLL,  UNMOVED"     81 

"  And  why  has  he  come  back  before  the  Legislature's 
over?"  said  Wetherell. 

"  Cuttin'  of  his  farms.  Always  comes  back  hayin' 
time.  That's  the  way  Jethro  spends  the  money  he  makes 
in  politics,  and  he  hain't  no  more  of  a  farmer  than  — " 
Moses  looked  at  Wetherell. 

"  Than  I'm  a  storekeeper,"  said  the  latter,  smiling. 

"  Than  I'm  a  lawyer,"  said  Moses,  politely. 

They  were  interrupted  at  this  moment  by  the  appear 
ance  of  Jake  Wheeler  and  Sam  Price,  who  came  gaping 
out  of  the  darkness  of  the  store. 

"Was  that  Jethro,  Mose?"  demanded  Jake.  "Guess 
we'll  go  along  up  and  see  if  there's  any  orders." 

"  I  suppose  the  humblest  of  God's  critturs  has  their 
uses,"  Moses  remarked  contemplatively,  as  he  watched 
the  retreating  figures  of  Sam  and  Jake.  "  Leastwise  that's 
Jethro's  philosophy.  When  you  come  to  know  him, 
you'll  notice  how  much  those  fellers  walk  like  him. 
Never  seed  a  man  who  had  so  many  imitators.  Some  of 
'em's  took  to  talkin'  like  him,  even  to  stutterin'.  Bijah 
Bixby,  over  to  Clovelly,  comes  pretty  nigh  it,  too." 

Moses  loaded  his  sugar  and  beans  into  his  wagon,  and 
drove  off. 

An  air  of  suppressed  excitement  seemed  to  pervade 
those  who  came  that  afternoon  to  the  store  to  trade  and 
talk  —  mostly  to  talk.  After  such  purchases  as  they 
could  remember  were  made,  they  lingered  on  the  barrels 
and  on  the  stoop,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Jethro,  whose  habit 
it  was,  apparently,  to  come  down  and  dispense  such  news 
as  he  thought  fit  for  circulation.  That  Wetherell  shared 
this  excitement,  too,  he  could  not  deny,  but  for  a  different 
cause.  At  last,  when  the  shadows  of  the  big  trees  had 
crept  across  the  green,  he  came,  the  customers  flocking 
to  the  porch  to  greet  him,  Wetherell  standing  curiously 
behind  them  in  the  door.  Heedless  of  the  dust,  he  strode 
down  the  road  with  the  awkward  gait  that  was  all  his 
own,  kicking  up  his  heels  behind.  And  behind  him,  heels 
kicking  up  likewise,  followed  Jake  and  Sam,  Jethro  appar 
ently  oblivious  of  their  presence.  A  modest  silence  was 


82  CONISTON 

maintained  from  the  stoop,  broken  at  length  by  Lem  Hal- 
lowell,  who  (men  said)  was  an  exact  reproduction  of  Jock, 
the  meeting-house  builder.  Lem  alone  was  not  abashed 
in  the  presence  of  greatness. 

"  How  be  you,  Jethro  ?  "  he  said  heartily.  "  Air  the 
Legislatur'  behavin'  themselves  ?  " 

"  B-bout  as  common,"  said  Jethro. 

Surely  nothing  very  profound  in  this  remark,  but  re 
ceived  as  though  it  were  Solomon's. 

Be  prepared  for  a  change  in  Jethro,  after  the  galloping 
years.  He  is  now  fifty-seven,  but  he  might  be  any  age. 
He  is  still  smooth-shaven,  his  skin  is  clear,  and  his  eye  is 
bright,  for  he  lives  largely  on  bread  and  milk,  and  eschews 
stimulants.  But  the  lines  in  his  face  have  deepened  and 
his  big  features  seem  to  have  grown  bigger. 

"  Who  be  you  thinkin'  of  for  next  governor,  Jethro  ?  " 
queries  Rias  Richardson,  timidly. 

"  They  say  Alvy  Hopkins  of  Gosport  is  willin'  to  pay 
for  it,"  said  Chester  Perkins,  sarcastically.  Chester,  we 
fear,  is  a  born  agitator,  fated  to  remain  always  in  opposi 
tion.  He  is  still  a  Democrat,  and  Jethro,  as  is  well  known, 
has  extended  the  mortgage  so  as  to  include  Chester's 
farm. 

"  Wouldn't  give  a  Red  Brook  Seedling  for  Alvy," 
ejaculated  the  nasal  Mr.  Price. 

"D-don't  like  Red  Brook  Seedlings,  Sam?  D-don't 
like  'em  ?  "  said  Jethro.  He  had  parted  his  blue  coat  tails 
and  seated  himself  on  the  stoop,  his  long  legs  hanging 
over  it. 

"  Never  seed  a  man  who  had  a  good  word  to  say  for 
'em,"  said  Mr.  Price,  with  less  conviction. 

"  Done  well  on  mine,"  said  Jethro,  "  d-done  well.  I 
was  satisfied  with  my  Red  Brook  Seedlings." 

Mr.  Price's  sallow  face  looked  as  if  he  would  have  con 
tradicted  another  man. 

"  Haow  was  that,  Jethro  ? "  piped  up  Jake  Wheeler, 
voicing  the  general  desire. 

Jethro  looked  off  into  the  blue  space  beyond  the  moun 
tain  line. 


«  AND  STILL  THE  AGES  KOLL,  UNMOVED  "     83 

"  G-got  mine  when  they  first  come  round  —  seed  cost 
me  considerable.  Raised  more  than  a  hundred  bushels  — 
L-Listy  put  some  of  'em  on  the  table  —  t-then  gave  some 
to  my  old  hoss  Tom.  Tom  said:  l  Hain't  I  always  been 
a  good  beast,  Jethro  ?  Hain't  I  carried  you  faithful,  sum 
mer  and  winter,  for .  a  good  many  years  ?  And  now  you 
give  me  Red  Brook  Seedlings  ?  ' ' 

Here  everybody  laughed,  and  stopped  abruptly,  for 
Jethro  still  looked  contemplative. 

"  Give  some  of  'em  to  the  hogs.  W-wouldn't  touch  'em. 
H-had  over  a  hundred  bushels  on  hand  —  n-new  variety. 
W-what's  that  feller's  name  down  to  Ayer,  Massachu 
setts,  deals  in  all  kinds  of  seeds?  Ellett — that's  it. 
Wrote  to  Ellett,  said  I  had  a  hundred  bushels  of  Red 
Brooks  to  sell,  as  fine  a  lookin'  potato  as  I  had  in  my 
cellar.  Made  up  my  mind  to  take  what  he  offered,  if  it 
was  only  five  cents.  He  wrote  back  a  dollar  a  bushel.  I-I 
was  always  satisfied  with  my  Red  Brook  Seedlings,  Sam. 
But  I  never  raised  any  more  — n-never  raised  any  more." 

Uproarious  laughter  greeted  the  end  of  this  story,  and 
continued  in  fits  as  some  humorous  point  recurred  to  one 
or  the  other  of  the  listeners.  William  Wetherell  perceived 
that  the  conversation,  for  the  moment  at  least,  was  safely 
away  from  politics,  and  in  that  dubious  state  where  it 
was  difficult  to  reopen.  This  was  perhaps  what  Jethro 
wanted.  Even  Jake  Wheeler  was  tongue-tied,  and  Jethro 
appeared  to  be  lost  in  reflection. 

At  this  instant  a  diversion  occurred  —  a  trifling  diver 
sion,  so  it  seemed  at  the  time.  Around  the  corner  of  the 
store,  her  cheeks  flushed  and  her  dark  hair  flying,  ran 
little  Cynthia,  her  hands,  browned  already  by  the 
Coniston  sun,  filled  with  wild  strawberries. 

"  See  what  I've  found,  Daddy  1  "  she  cried,  "  see  what 
I've  found  I  " 

Jethro  Bass  started,  and  flung  back  his  head  like  a  man 
who  has  heard  a  voice  from  another  world,  and  then 
he  looked  at  the  child  with  a  kind  of  stupefaction. 
The  cry  died  on  Cynthia's  lips,  and  she  stopped,  gazing 
up  at  him  with  wonder  in  her  eyes. 


"  '  M  -may  I  call  you  Cynthy?' " 


84 


"AND  STILL  THE  AGES  ROLL,  UNMOVED"     85 

"  F-found  strawberries  ?  "  said  Jethro,  at  last. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  She  was  very  grave  and  serious 
now,  as  was  her  manner  in  dealing  with  people. 

"  S-show  'em  to  me,"  said  Jethro. 

Cynthia  went  to  him,  without  embarrassment,  and  put 
her  hand  on  his  knee.  Not  once  had  he  taken  his  eyes 
from  her  face.  He  put  out  his  own  hand  with  an  awk 
ward,  shy  movement,  picked  a  strawberry  from  her  fingers, 
and  thrust  it  in  his  mouth. 

"  Mm,"  said  Jethro,  gravely.  "  Er  —  what's  your  name, 
little  gal  —  what's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Cynthia." 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

"  Er-er  —  Cynthia  ?  "  he  said  at  length,  "  Cynthia  ?  " 

"  Cynthia."" 

"  Er-er,  Cynthia  —  not  Cynthy  ?  " 

"  Cynthia,"  she  said  again. 

He  bent  over  her  and  lowered  his  voice. 

"  M-may  I  call  you  Cynthy  —  Cynthy  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Y-yes,"  answered  Cynthia,  looking  up  to  her  father 
and  then  glancing  shyly  at  Jethro. 

His  eyes  were  on  the  mountain,  and  he  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  her  until  she  reached  out  to  him,  timidly,  another 
strawberry.  He  seized  her  little  hand  instead  and  held 
it  between  his  own  —  much  to  the  astonishment  of  his 
friends. 

"  Whose  little  gal  be  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Dad's." 

"She's  Will  Wetherell's  daughter,"  said  Lem  Hallo- 
well.  "  He's  took  on  the  store.  Will,"  he  added,  turn 
ing  to  Wetherell,  "let  me  make  you  acquainted  with 
Jethro  Bass." 

Jethro  rose  slowly,  and  towered  above  Wetherell  on 
the  stoop.  There  was  an  inscrutable  look  in  his  black 
eyes,  as  of  one  who  sees  without  being  seen.  Did  he 
know  who  William  Wetherell  was  ?  If  so,  he  gave  no 
sign,  and  took  Wetherell's  hand  limply. 

"Will's  kinder  hipped  on  book-1'arnin',"  Lemuel  con 
tinued  kindly.  "  Come  here  to  keep  store  for  his 


86  CONISTON 

health.     Guess  you  may  have  heerd,   Jethro,  that  Will 
married  Cynthy  Ware.     You  call  Cynthy  to  mind,  don't 

ye?" 

Jethro  Bass  dropped  Wetherell's  hand,  but  answered 
nothing. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  IS   SOMETHING   TO   HAVE   DREAMED 

A  WEEK  passed,  and  Jethro  did  not  appear  in  the 
village,  report  haying  it  that  he  was  cutting  his  farms  on 
Thousand  Acre  Hill.  When  Jethro  was  farming,  —  so  it 
was  said,  —  he  would  not  stop  to  talk  politics  even  with 
the  President  of  the  United  States  were  that  dignitary  to 
lean  over  his  pasture  fence  and  beckon  to  him.  On  a 
sultry  Friday  morning,  when  William  Wetherell  was 
seated  at  Jonah  Winch's  desk  in  the  cool  recesses  of  the 
store  slowly  and  painfully  going  over  certain  troublesome 
accounts  which  seemed  hopeless,  he  was  thrown  into  a 
panic  by  the  sight  of  one  staring  at  him  from  the  far  side 
of  a  counter.  History  sometimes  reverses  itself. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  —  Mr.  Bass  ?  "  asked  the  store 
keeper,  rather  weakly. 

"  Just  stepped  in  —  stepped  in,"  he  answered. 
"  W-where's  Cynthy  ?  " 

"  She  was  in  the  garden  —  shall  I  get  her  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  parting  his  coat  tails  and  seating  himself 
on  the  counter.  "Go  on  figurin',  don't  mind  me." 

The  thing  was  manifestly  impossible.  Pejhaps  Weth 
erell  indicated  as  much  by  his  answer. 

"  Like  storekeepin'  ?  "  Jethro  asked  presently,  perceiv 
ing  that  he  did  not  continue  his  work. 

"  A  man  must  live,  Mr.  Bass,"  said  Wetherell ;  "  I  had 
to  leave  the  city  for  my  health.  I  began  life  keeping 
store,"  he  added,  "but  I  little  thought  I  should  end  it 
so." 

"Given  to  book-1'arnin'  then,  wahn't  you?"  Jethro 
remarked.  He  did  not  smile,  but  stared  at  the  square  of 

87 


88  CONISTON 

light  that  was  the  doorway,  "Judson's  jewellery  store, 
wahn't  it  ?  Judson's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Judson's,"  Wetherell  answered,  as  soon  as  he 
recovered  from  his  amazement.  There  was  no  telling 
from  Jethro's  manner  whether  he  were  enemy  or  friend  ; 
whether  he  bore  the  storekeeper  a  grudge  for  having 
attained  to  a  happiness  that  had  not  been  his. 

"  Hain't  made  a  great  deal  out  of  life,  hev  you  ?  N-not 
a  great  deal?"  Jethro  observed  at  last. 

Wetherell  flushed,  although  Jethro  had  merely  stated  a 
truth  which  had  often  occurred  to  the  storekeeper  himself. 

"  It  isn't  given  to  all  of  us  to  find  Rome  in  brick  and 
leave  it  in  marble,"  he  replied  a  little  sadly. 

Jethro  Bass  looked  at  him  quickly. 

"  Er  —  what's  that  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  F-found  Rome 
in  brick,  left  it  in  marble.  Fine  thought."  He  rumi 
nated  a  little.  "  Never  writ  anything  —  did  you  —  never 
writ  anything  ?  " 

"  Nothing  worth  publishing,"  answered  poor  William 
Wetherell. 

"J-just  dreamed  —  dreamed  and  kept  store.  S-some- 
thing  to  have  dreamed  —  eh  —  something  to  have 
dreamed  ?  " 

Wetherell  forgot  his  uneasiness  in  the  unexpected  turn 
the  conversation  had  taken.  It  seemed  very  strange  to 
him  that  he  was  at  last  face  to  face  again  with  the  man 
whom  Cynthia  Ware  had  never  been  able  to  drive  from 
her  heart.  Would  he  mention  her  ?  Had  he  continued 
to  love  her,  in  spite  of  the  woman  he  had  married  and 
adorned  ?  Wetherell  asked  himself  these  questions  before 
he  spoke. 

"  It  is  more  to  have  accomplished,"  he  said. 

"  S-something  to  have  dreamed,"  repeated  Jethro,  rising 
slowly  from  the  counter.  He  went  toward  the  doorway 
that  led  into  the  garden,  and  there  he  halted  and  stood 
listening. 

"  C-Cynthy  !  "  he  said,  "  C-Cynthy  !  " 

Wetherell  dropped  his  pen  at  the  sound  of  the  name  on 
Jethro's  lips.  But  it  was  little  Cynthia  he  was  calling  — 


IT  IS  SOMETHING  TO  HAVE  DREAMED         89 

little  Cynthia  in  the  garden.  The  child  came  at  his 
voice,  and  stood  looking  up  at  him  silently. 

"  H-how  old  be  you,  Cynthy  ?  " 

"  Nine,"  answered  Cynthia,  promptly. 

"L-like  the  country,  Cynthy  —  like  the  country  better 
than  the  city  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  And  country  folks  ?  L-like  country  folks  better  than 
city  folks  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  many  city  folks,"  said  Cynthia.  "  I 
liked  the  old  doctor  who  sent  Daddy  up  here  ever  so 
much,  and  I  liked  Mrs.  Darwin." 

"  Mis'  Darwin  ?  " 

"  She  kept  the  house  we  lived  in.  She  used  to  give  me 
cookies,"  said  Cynthia,  "and  bread  to  feed  the  pigeons." 

"  Pigeons  ?     F-folks  keep  pigeons  in  the  city  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Cynthia, laughing  at  such  an  idea;  "the 
pigeons  came  on  the  roof  under  our  window,  and 
they  used  to  fly  right  up  on  the  window-sill  and  feed  out 
of  my  hand.  They  kept  me  company  while  Daddy 
was  away,  working.  On  Sundays  we  used  to  go  into 
the  Common  and  feed  them,  before  Daddy  got  sick. 
The  Common  was  something  like  the  country,  only  not 
half  as  nice." 

"  C-couldn't  pick  flowers  in  the  Common  and  go  bare 
foot —  c-couldn't  go  barefoot,  Cynthy?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Cynthia,  laughing  again  at  his  sober 
face. 

"  C-couldn't  dig  up  the  Common  and  plant  flowers  — 
could  you  ?  " 

"Of  course  you  couldn't." 

"  P-plant  'em  out  there  ?  "  asked  Jethro. 

"Oh,  yes,"  cried  Cynthia;  "I'll  show  you."  She  hesi 
tated  a  moment,  and  then  thrust  her  hand  into  his.  "  Do 
you  want  to  see  ?  " 

"  Guess  I  do,"  said  he,  energetically,  and  she  led  him 
into  the  garden,  pointing  out  with  pride  the  rows  of  sweet 
peas  and  pansies,  which  she  had  made  herself.  Impelled 
by  a  strange  curiosity,  William  Wetherell  went  to  the 


90  CONISTOK 

door  and  watched  them.  There  was  a  look  on  the  face  of 
Jethro  Bass  that  was  new  to  it  as  he  listened  to  the  child 
talk  of  the  wondrous  things  around  them  that  summer's 
day,  —  the  flowers  and  the  bees  and  the  brook  (they 
must  go  down  and  stand  on  the  brink  of  it),  and  the  songs 
of  the  vireo  and  the  hermit  thrush. 

"  Hain't  lonely  here,  Cynthy  —  hain't  lonely  here  ?  "  he 
said. 

"  Not  in  the  country,"  said  Cynthia.  Suddenly  she 
lifted  her  eyes  to  his  with  a  questioning  look.  "  Are  you 
lonely,  sometimes  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  at  once. 

"  Not  with  you,  Cynthy  —  not  with  you." 

By  all  of  which  it  will  be  seen  that  the  acquaintance  was 
progressing.  They  sat  down  for  a  while  on  the  old  mill 
stone  that  formed  the  step,  and  there  discussed  Cynthia's 
tastes.  She  was  too  old  for  dolls,  Jethro  supposed.  Yes, 
Cynthia  was  too  old  for  dolls.  She  did  not  say  so,  but  the 
only  doll  she  had  ever  owned  had  become  insipid  when  the 
delight  of  such  a  reality  as  taking  care  of  a  helpless  father 
had  been  thrust  upon  her.  Books,  suggested  Jethro.  Books 
she  had  known  from  her  earliest  infancy :  they  had  been 
piled  around  that  bedroom  over  the  roof.  Books  and  book 
lore  and  the  command  of  the  English  tongue  were  William 
Wetherell's  only  legacies  to  his  daughter,  and  many  an 
evening  that  spring  she  had  read  him  to  sleep  from  classic 
volumes  of  prose  and  poetry  I  hesitate  to  name,  for  fear 
you  will  think  her  precocious.  They  went  across  the 
green  to  Cousin  Ephraim  Prescott's  harness  shop,  where 
Jethro  had  tied  his  horse,  and  it  was  settled  that  Cynthia 
liked  books. 

On  the  morning  following  this  extraordinary  conversa 
tion,  Jethro  Bass  and  his  wife  departed  for  the  state  capi 
tal.  Listy  was  bedecked  in  amazing  greens  and  yellows, 
and  Jethro  drove,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  his 
coat  tails  hanging  down  behind  the  seat,  the  reins  lying 
slack  across  the  plump  quarters  of  his  horse  —  the  same 
fat  Tom  who,  by  the  way,  had  so  indignantly  spurned  the 
Red  Brook  Seedlings.  And  Jake  Wheeler  went  along  to 


IT  IS  SOMETHING  TO  HAVE  DREAMED         91 

bring  back  the  team  from  Brampton.  To  such  base  uses 
are  political  lieutenants  sometimes  put,  although  Jake 
would  have  told  you  it  was  an  honor,  and  he  came  back  to 
the  store  that  evening  fairly  bristling  with  political 
secrets  which  he  could  not  be  induced  to  impart. 

One  evening  a  fortnight  later,  while  the  lieutenant  was 
holding  forth  in  commendably  general  terms  on  the  poli 
tics  of  the  state  to  a  speechless  if  not  wholly  admiring 
audience,  a  bomb  burst  in  their  midst.  William  Weth- 
erell  did  not  know  that  it  was  a  periodical  bomb,  like  those 
flung  at  regular  intervals  from  the  Union  mortars  into 
Vicksburg.  These  bombs,  at  any  rate,  never  failed  to 
cause  consternation  and  fright  in  Coniston,  although  they 
never  did  any  harm.  One  thing  noticeable,  they  were 
always  fired  in  Jethro's  absence.  And  the  bombardier  was 
always  Chester  Perkins,  son  of  the  most  unbending  and 
rigorous  of  tithing-men,  but  Chester  resembled  his  father 
in  no  particular  save  that  he,  too,  was  a  deacon  and  a  pillar 
of  the  church.  Deacon  Ira  had  been  tall  and  gaunt  and 
sunken  and  uncommunicative.  Chester  was  stout,  and 
said  to  perspire  even  in  winter,  apoplectic,  irascible,  talka 
tive,  and  still,  as  has  been  said,  a  Democrat.  He  drove 
up  to  the  store  this  evening  to  the  not  inappropriate  rum 
ble  of  distant  thunder,  and  he  stood  up  in  his  wagon  in 
front  of  the  gathering  and  shook  his  fist  in  Jake  Wheeler's 
face. 

"  This  town's  tired  of  puttin'  up  with  a  King,"  he  cried. 
"  Yes,  King  —  I  said  it,  and  I  don't  care  who  hears  me. 
It's  time  to  stop  this  one-man  rule.  You  kin  go  and  tell 
him  I  said  it,  Jake  Wheeler,  if  you've  a  mind  to.  I  guess 
there's  plenty  who'll  do  that." 

An  uneasy  silence  followed  —  the  silence  which  cries 
treason  louder  than  any  voice.  Some  shifted  uneasily, 
and  spat,  and  Jake  Wheeler  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  walked  away,  as  much  as  to  say  that  it  was  treason 
even  to  listen  to  such  talk.  Lem  Hallowell  seemed 
unperturbed. 

"  On  the  rampage  agin,  Chet  ?  "  he  remarked. 

"You'd  ought  to  know  better,  Lem,"  cried  the  enraged 


92  CONISTON 

Chester ;  "  hain't  the  hull  road  by  the  Four  Corners  ready 
to  drop  into  the  brook?  What  be  you  a-goin'  to  do 
about  it?" 

"  I'll  show  you  when  I  git  to  it,"  answered  Lem,  quietly. 
And  show  them  he  did. 

"  Git  to  it !  "  shouted  Chester,  scornfully,  "  I'll  git  to 
it.  I'll  tell  you  right  now  I'm  a  candidate  for  the  Chair 
man  of  the  Selectmen,  if  town  meetin'  is  eight  months 
away.  An',  Sam  Price,  I'll  expect  the  Democrats  to  git 
into  line." 

With  this  ultimatum  Chester  drove  away  as  rapidly  as 
he  had  come. 

"  I  want  to  know !  "  said  Sam  Price,  an  exclamation 
peculiarly  suited  to  his  voice.  But  nevertheless  Sam 
might  be  counted  on  in  each  of  these  little  rebellions. 
He,  too,  had  remained  steadfast  to  Jacksonian  principles, 
and  he  had  never  forgiven  Jethro  about  a  little  matter 
of  a  state  office  which  he  (Sam)  had  failed  to  obtain. 

Before  he  went  to  bed  Jake  Wheeler  had  written  a  let 
ter  which  he  sent  off  to  the  state  capital  by  the  stage  the 
next  morning.  In  it  he  indicted  no  less  than  twenty  of 
his  fellow-townsmen  for  treason ;  and  he  also  thought  it 
wise  to  send  over  to  Clovelly  for  Bijah  Bixby,  a  lieutenant 
in  that  section,  to  come  and  look  over  the  ground  and 
ascertain  by  his  well-known  methods  how  far  the  treason 
had  eaten  into  the  body  politic.  Such  was  Jake's  ordinary 
procedure  when  the  bombs  were  fired,  for  Mr.  Wheeler 
was  nothing  if  not  cautious. 

Three  mornings  later,  a  little  after  seven  o'clock,  when 
the  storekeeper  and  his  small  daughter  were  preparing  to 
go  to  Brampton  upon  a  very  troublesome  errand,  Chester 
Perkins  appeared  again.  It  is  always  easy  to  stir  up  dis 
satisfaction  among  the  ne'er-do-wells  (Jethro  had  once 
done  it  himself),  and  during  the  three  days  which  had 
elapsed  since  Chester  had  flung  down  the  gauntlet  there 
had  been  more  or  less  of  downright  treason  heard  in  the 
store.  William  Wetherell,  who  had  perplexities  of  his 
own,  had  done  his  best  to  keep  out  of  the  discussions  that 
had  raged  on  his  cracker  boxes  and  barrels,  for  his  head 


1  He  indicted  no  less  than  twenty  of  his  fellow-townsmen." 


93 


94  CONISTON 

was  a  jumble  of  figures  which  would  not  come  right.  And 
now  as  he  stood  there  in  the  freshness  of  the  early  sum 
mer  morning,  waiting  for  Lem  Hallowell's  stage,  poor 
Wetherell's  heart  was  very  heavy. 

"Will  Wetherell,"  said  Chester,  "you  be  a  gentleman 
and  a  student,  hain't  you  ?  Read  history,  hain't  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  read  some,"  said  William  Wetherell. 

"  I  callate  tnat  a  man  of  parts,"  said  Chester,  "  such  as 
you  be,  will  help  us  agin  corruption  and  a  dic'tator.  I'm 
a-countin'  on  you,  Will  Wetherell.  You've  got  the  store, 
and  you  kin  tell  the  boys. the  difference  between  right  and 
wrong.  They'll  listen  to  you,  because  you're  eddicated." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  politics,"  answered  Weth 
erell,  with  an  appealing  glance  at  the  silent  group,  —  group 
that  was  always  there.  Rias  Richardson,  who  had  donned 
the  carpet  slippers  preparatory  to  tending  store  for  the 
day,  shuffled  inside.  Deacon  Lysander,  his  father,  would 
not  have  done  so. 

"  You  know  somethin'  about  history  and  the  Constitoo- 
tion,  don't  ye  ?"  demanded  Chester,  truculently.  "Jethro 
Bass  don't  hold  your  mortgage,  does  he  ?  Bank  in  Bramp- 
ton  holds  it  —  hain't  that  so?  You  hain't  afeard  of  Jethro 
like  the  rest  on  'em,  be  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  right  you  have  to  talk  to  me  that 
way,  Mr.  Perkins,"  said  Wetherell. 

"  What  right  ?  Jethro  holds  my  mortgage  —  the  hull 
town  knows  it — and  he  kin  close  me  out  to-morrow  if  he's 
a  mind  to  —  " 

"  See  here,  Chester  Perkins,"  Lem  Hallowell  interposed, 
as  he  drove  up  with  the  stage,  "  what  kind  of  free  princi 
ples  be  you  preachin'  ?  You'd  ought  to  know  better'n 
coerce." 

"  What  be  you  a-goin'  to  do  about  that  Four  Corners 
road  ?  "  Chester  cried  to  the  stage  driver. 

"  I  give  'em  till  to-morrow  night  to  fix  it,"  said  Lem. 
"  Git  in,  Will.  Cynthy's  over  to  the  harness  shop  with 
Eph.  We'll  stop  as  we  go  'long." 

"  Give  'em  till  to-morrow  night !  "  Chester  shouted 
after  them.  "  What  you  goin'  to  do  then  ?  " 


IT  IS  SOMETHING  TO  HAVE  DREAMED         95 

But  Lem  did  not  answer  this  inquiry.  He  stopped  at 
the  harness  shop,  where  Ephraim  came  limping  out  and 
lifted  Cynthia  to  the  seat  beside  her  father,  and  they  jog 
gled  off  to  Brampton.  The  dew  still  lay  in  myriad  drops 
on  the  red  herd's-grass,  turning  it  to  lavender  in  the  morn 
ing  sun,  and  the  heavy  scent  of  the  wet  ferns  hung  in  the 
forest.  Lem  whistled,  and  joked  with  little  Cynthia,  and 
gave  her  the  reins  to  drive,  and  at  last  they  came  in  sight  of 
Brampton  Street,  with  its  terrace-steepled  church  and  line 
of  wagons  hitched  to  the  common  rail,  for  it  was  market 
day.  Father  and  daughter  walked  up  and  down,  hand  in 
hand,  under  the  great  trees,  and  then  they  went  to  the 
bank. 

It  was  a  brick  building  on  a  corner  opposite  the  com 
mon,  imposing  for  Brampton,  and  very  imposing  to  Wether- 
ell.  It  seemed  like  a  tomb  as  he  entered  its  door,  Cynthia 
clutching  his  fingers,  and  never  but  once  in  his  life  had 
he  been  so  near  to  leaving  all  hope  behind.  He  waited 
patiently  by  the  barred  windows  until  the  clerk,  who  was 
counting  bills,  chose  to  look  up  at  him. 

"  Want  to  draw  money  ?  "  he  demanded. 

The  words  seemed  charged  with  irony.  William 
Wetherell  told  him,  falteringly,  his  name  and  business, 
and  he  thought  the  man  looked  at  him  compassionately. 

"  You'll  have  to  see  Mr.  Worthington,"  he  said ;  "  he 
hasn't  gone  to  the  mills  yet." 

"  Dudley  Worthington  ?  "  exclaimed  Wetherell. 

The  teller  smiled. 

"Yes.     He's  the  president  of  this  bank." 

He  opened  a  door  in  the  partition,  and  leaving  Cynthia 
dangling  her  feet  from  a  chair,  Wetherell  was  ushered, 
not  without  trepidation,  into  the  great  man's  office,  and 
found  himself  at  last  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Isaac  D. 
Worthington,  who  used  to  wander  up  and  down  Coniston 
Water  searching  for  a  mill  site. 

He  sat  behind  a  table  covered  with  green  leather,  on 
which  papers  were  laid  with  elaborate  neatness,  and  he 
wore  a  double-breasted  skirted  coat  of  black,  with  braided 
lapels,  a  dark  purple  blanket-cravat  with  a  large  red 


96  CONISTON 

cameo  pin.  And  Mr.  Worthington's  features  harmonized 
perfectly  with  this  costume  —  those  of  a  successful,  am 
bitious  man  who  followed  custom  and  convention  blindly; 
clean-shaven,  save  for  reddish  chops,  blue  eyes  of  extreme 
keenness,  and  thin-lipped  mouth  which  had  been  tighten 
ing  year  by  year  as  the  output  of  the  Worthington  Mills 
increased. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said  sharply,  "  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  William  Wetherell,  the  storekeeper  at  Con- 
iston." 

"  Not  the  Wetherell  who  married  Cynthia  Ware  !  " 

No,  Mr.  Worthington  did  not  say  that.  He  did  not 
know  that  Cynthia  Ware  was  married,  or  alive  or  dead, 
and  —  let  it  be  confessed  at  once  —  he  did  not  care. 

This  is  what  he  did  say  :  — 

"Wetherell  —  Wetherell.  Oh,  yes,  you've  come  about 
that  note — the  mortgage  on  the  store  at  Coniston."  He 
stared  at  William  Wetherell,  drummed  with  his  fingers  on 
the  table,  and  smiled  slightly.  "  I  am  happy  to  say  that 
the  Brampton  Bank  does  not  own  this  note  any  longer. 
If  we  did,  —  merely  as  a  matter  of  business,  you  under 
stand"  (he  coughed),  —  "  we  should  have  had  to  foreclose." 

"  Don't  own  the  note  !  "  exclaimed  Wetherell.  "  Who 
does  own  it  ?  " 

"  We  sold  it  a  little  while  ago  —  since  you  asked  for 
the  extension — to  Jethro  Bass." 

"  Jethro  Bass  !  "  Wetherell's  feet  seemed  to  give  way 
under  him,  and  he  sat  down. 

"  Mr.  Bass  is  a  little  quixotic  —  that  is  a  charitable 
way  to  put  it  —  quixotic.  He  does  —  strange  things  like 
this  once  in  a  while." 

The  storekeeper  found  no  words  to  answer,  but  sat 
mutely  staring  at  him.  Mr.  Worthington  coughed  again. 

"  You  appear  to  be  an  educated  man.  Haven't  I  heard 
some  story  of  your  giving  up  other  pursuits  in  Boston 
to  come  up  here  for  your  health  ?  Certainly  I  place  you 
now.  I  confess  to  a  little  interest  in  literature  myself  — 
in  libraries." 

In   spite   of  his  stupefaction  at  the  news  he  had  just 


IT  IS  SOMETHING  TO  HAVE  DREAMED         97 

received,  Wetherell  thought  of  Mr.  Worthington's  beaver 
hat,  and  of  that  gentleman's  first  interest  in  libraries,  for 
Cynthia  had  told  the  story  to  her  husband. 

"  It  is  perhaps  an  open  secret,"  continued  Mr.  Worth- 
ington,  "  that  in  the  near  future  I  intend  to  establish  a 
free  library  in  Brampton.  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  do  all  I 
can  for  the  town  where  I  have  made  my  success,  and 
there  is  nothing  which  induces  more  to  the  popular  wel 
fare  than  a  good  library."  Whereupon  he  shot  at  Weth 
erell  another  of  his  keen  looks.  "  I  do  not  talk  this 
way  ordinarily  to  my  customers,  Mr.  Wetherell,"  he 
began ;  "  but  you  interest  me,  and  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
something  in  confidence.  I  am  sure  it  will  not  be 
betrayed." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  the  bewildered  storekeeper,  who  was  in 
no  condition  to  listen  to  confidences. 

He  went  quietly  to  the  door,  opened  it,  looked  out,  and 
closed  it  softly.  Then  he  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"  Have  a  care  of  this  man  Bass,"  he  said,  in  a  lower 
voice.  "  He  began  many  years  ago  by  debauching  the 
liberties  of  that  little  town  of  Coniston,  and  since  then  he 
has  gradually  debauched  the  whole  state,  judges  and  all. 
If  I  have  a  case  to  try  "  (he  spoke  now  with  more  inten 
sity  and  bitterness),  "  concerning  my  mills,  or  my  bank, 
before  I  get  through  I  find  that  rascal  mixed  up  in  it  some 
where,  and  unless  I  arrange  matters  with  him,  I  —  " 

He  paused  abruptly,  his  eyes  going  out  of  the  window, 
pointing  with  a  long  finger  at  a  grizzled  man  crossing  the 
street  with  a  yellow  and  red  horse  blanket  thrown  over 
his  shoulders. 

"  That  man,  Judge  Baker,  holding  court  in  this  town 
now,  Bass  owns  body  and  soul." 

"  And  the  horse  blanket  ?  "  Wetherell  queried,  irresist- 
ibly. 

Dudley  Worthington  did  not  smile. 

"  Take  my  advice,  Mr.  Wetherell,  and  pay  off  that  note 
somehow."  An  odor  of  the  stable  pervaded  the  room, 
and  a  great  unkempt  grizzled  head  and  shoulders,  horse 
blanket  and  all,  were  stuck  into  it. 


98  CONISTON 

"  Mornin',  Dudley,"  said  the  head,  "  busy  ?  " 

"  Come  right  in,  Judge,"  answered  Mr.  Worthington. 
"Never  too  busy  to  see  you."  The  head  disappeared. 

"Take  my  advice,  Mr.  Wetherell." 

And  then  the  storekeeper  went  into  the  bank. 

For  some  moments  he  stood  dazed  by  what  he  had 
heard,  the  query  ringing  in  his  head  :  Why  had  Jethro 
Bass  bought  that  note  ?  Did  he  think  that  the  store 
keeper  at  Coniston  would  be  of  use  to  him,  politically  ? 
The  words  Chester  Perkins  had  spoken  that  morning 
came  back  to  Wetherell  as  he  stood  in  the  door.  And 
how  was  he  to  meet  Jethro  Bass  again  with  no  money 
to  pay  even  the  interest  on  the  note  ?  Then  suddenly  he 
missed  Cynthia,  hurried  out,  and  spied  her  under  the 
trees  on  the  common  so  deep  in  conversation  with  a  boy 
that  she  did  not  perceive  him  until  he  spoke  to  her.  The 
boy  looked  up,  smiling  frankly  at  something  Cynthia 
had  said  to  him.  He  had  honest,  humorous  eyes,  and  a 
browned,  freckled  face,  and  was,  perhaps,  two  years  older 
than  Cynthia. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  Wetherell. 

Cynthia's  face  was  flushed,  and  she  was  plainly  vexed 
about  something. 

"  I  gave  her  a  whistle,"  said  the  boy,  with  a  little 
laugh  of  vexation,  "  and  now  she  says  she  won't  take  it 
because  I  owned  up  I  made  it  for  another  girl." 

Cynthia  held  it  out  to  him,  not  deigning  to  appeal  her 
case. 

"  You  must  take  it  back,"  she  said. 

"  But  I  want  you  to  have  it,"  said  the  boy. 

"It  wouldn't  be  right  for  me  to  take  it  when  you 
made  it  for  somebody  else." 

After  all,  people  with  consciences  are  born,  not  made. 
But  this  was  a  finer  distinction  thaa  the  boy  had  ever 
met  with  in  his  experience. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  when  I  made  the  whistle,"  he  ob 
jected,  puzzled  and  downcast. 

"That  doesn't  make  any  difference." 

"  I  like  you  better  than  the  other  girl." 


Mornin',   Dudley.'" 
99 


100  CONISTON 

"You  have  no  right  to,"  retorted  the  casuist;  "you've 
known  her  longer." 

"That  doesn't  make  any  difference,"  said  the  boy; 
"  there  are  lots  of  people  I  don't  like  I  have  always  known. 
This  girl  doesn't  live  in  Brarapton,  anyway." 

"Where  does  she  live?"  demanded  Cynthia,  —  which 
was  a  step  backward. 

"At  the  state  capital.  Her  name's  Janet  Duncan. 
There,  do  you  believe  me  now  ? " 

William  Wetherell  had  heard  of  Janet  Duncan's  father, 
Alexander  Duncan,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  the 
richest  man  in  the  state.  And  he  began  to  wonder  who 
the  boy  could  be. 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  Cynthia ;  "  but  as  long  as  you 
made  it  for  her,  it's  hers.  Will  you  take  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  he,  determinedly. 

"Very  well,"  answered  Cynthia.  She  laid  down  the 
whistle  beside  him  on  the  rail,  and  went  off  a  little  dis 
tance  and  seated  herself  on  a  bench.  The  boy  laughed. 

"  I  like  that  girl,"  he  remarked  ;  "  the  rest  of  'em  take 
everything  I  give  'em,  and  ask  for  more.  She's  prettier'n 
any  of  'em,  too." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  Wetherell  asked  him,  curiously, 
forgetting  his  own  troubles. 

"  Bob  Worthington." 

"  Are  you  the  son  of  Dudley  Worthington  ?  " 

"  Everybody  asks  me  that,"  he  said  ;  "  I'm  tired  of  it. 
When  I  grow  up,  they'll  have  to  stop  it." 

"  But  you  should  be  proud  of  your  father." 

"  I  am  proud  of  him,  everybody's  proud  of  him,  Bramp- 
ton's  proud  of  him — he's  proud  of  himself.  That's 
enough,  ain't  it  ?  "  He  eyed  Wetherell  somewhat  defiantly, 
then  his  glance  wandered  to  Cynthia,  and  he  walked  over 
to  her.  He  threw  himself  down  on  the  grass  in  front  of 
her,  and  lay  looking  up  at  her  solemnly.  For  a  while  she 
continued  to  stare  inflexibly  at  the  line  of  market  wagons, 
and  then  she  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Thought  you  wouldn't  hold  out  forever,"  he  remarked. 

"  It's  because  you're  so  foolish,"  said  Cynthia,  "  that's 


1  Deep  in  conversation  with  a  boy." 


101 


102  CONISTON 

why  I  laughed."  Then  she  grew  sober  again  and  held 
out  her  hand  to  him.  "  Good-by." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"I  must  go  back  to  my  father.  I  —  I  think  he  doesn't 
feel  very  well." 

"  Next  time  I'll  make  a  whistle  for  you,"  he  called  after 
her. 

"  And  give  it  to  somebody  else,"  said  Cynthia. 

She  had  hold  of  her  father's  hand  by  that,  but  he  caught 
up  with  her,  very  red  in  the  face. 

"  You  know  that  isn't  true,"  he  cried  angrily,  and  tak 
ing  his  way  across  Brampton  Street,  turned,  and  stood 
staring  after  them  until  they  were  out  of  sight. 

"  Do  you  like  him,  Daddy  ?  "  asked  Cynthia. 

William  Wetherell  did  not  answer.  He  had  other 
things  to  think  about. 

"Daddy?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Does  your  trouble  feel  any  better  ?  " 

"  Some,  Cynthia.     But  you  mustn't  think  about  it." 

"  Daddy,  why  don't  you  ask  Uncle  Jethro  to  help 
you?" 

At  the  name  Wetherell  started  as  if  he  had  had  a 
shock. 

"  What  put  him  into  your  head,  Cynthia  ?  "  he  asked 
sharply.  "  Why  do  you  call  him  '  Uncle  Jethro '  ?  " 

"  Because  he  asked  me  to.  Because  he  likes  me,  and  I 
like  him." 

The  whole  thing  was  a  riddle  he  could  not  solve  —  one 
that  was  best  left  alone.  They  had  agreed  to  walk  back 
the  ten  miles  to  Coniston,  to  save  the  money  that  dinner 
at  the  hotel  would  cost.  And  so  they  started,  Cynthia 
flitting  hither  and  thither  along  the  roadside,  picking 
the  stately  purple  iris  flowers  in  the  marshy  places, 
while  Wetherell  pondered. 


CHAPTER    IX 

SHAKE   HANDS    WITH   MR.    BIJAH    BIXBY 

WHEN  William  Wetherell  and  Cynthia  had  reached  the 
last  turn  in  the  road  in  Northcutt's  woods,  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  Coniston,  they  met  the  nasal  Mr.  Samuel  Price 
driving  silently  in  the  other  direction.  The  word  "  silently  " 
is  used  deliberately,  because  to  Mr.  Price  appertained  a 
certain  ghostlike  quality  of  flitting,  and  to  Mr.  Price's 
horse  and  wagon  likewise.  He  drew  up  for  a  brief 
moment  when  he  saw  Wetherell. 

"  Wouldn't  hurry  back  if  I  was  you,  Will." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

Mr.  Price  leaned  out  of  the  wagon. 

"  Bije  has  come  over  from  Clovelly  to  spy  araound  a 
little  mite." 

It  was  evident  from  Mr.  Price's  manner  that  he  regarded 
the  storekeeper  as  a  member  of  the  reform  party. 

"  What  did  he  say,  Daddy  ?  "  asked  Cynthia,  as  Weth 
erell  stood  staring  after  the  flitting  buggy  in  bewilderment. 

"  I  haven't  the  faintest  idea,  Cynthia,"  answered  her 
father,  and  they  walked  on. 

"  Don't  you  know  who  '  Bije '  is  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  her  father,  "  and  I  don't  care." 

It  was  almost  criminal  ignorance  for  a  man  who  lived 
in  that  part  of  the  country  not  to  know  Bijah  Bixby  of 
Clovelly,  who  was  paying  a  little  social  visit  to  Coniston 
that  day  on  his  way  home  from  the  state  capital,  —  tend 
ing,  as  it  were,  Jethro's  flock.  Still,  Wetherell  must  be 
excused  because  he  was  an  impractical  literary  man  with 
troubles  of  his  own.  But  how  shall  we  chronicle  Bijah's 
rank  and  precedence  in  the  Jethro  army,  in  which  there 

103 


104  CONISTON 

are  neither  shoulder-straps  nor  annual  registers?  To 
designate  him  as  the  Chamberlain  of  that  hill  Rajah,  the 
Honorable  Heth  Sutton,  would  not  be  far  out  of  the  way. 
The  Honorable  Heth,  whom  we  all  know  and  whom  we 
shall  see  presently,  is  the  man  of  substance  and  of  broad 
acres  in  Clovelly:  Bijah  merely  owns  certain  mortgages 
in  that  town,  but  he  had  created  the  Honorable  Heth 
(politically)  as  surely  as  certain  prime  ministers  we  could 
name  have  created  their  sovereigns.  The  Honorable  Heth 
was  Bijah's  creation,  and  a  grand  creation  he  was,  as  no 
one  will  doubt  when  they  see  him. 

Bijah  — as  he  will  not  hesitate  to  tell  you — took  Heth 
down  in  his  pocket  to  the  Legislature,  and  has  more  than 
once  delivered  him,  in  certain  blocks  of  five  and  ten,  and 
four  and  twenty,  for  certain  considerations.  The  ancient 
Song  of  Sixpence  applies  to  Bijah,  but  his  pocket  was 
generally  full  of  proxies  instead  of  rye,  and  the  Honorable 
Heth  was  frequently  one  of  the  four  and  twenty  black 
birds.  In  short,  Bijah  was  the  working  bee,  and  the 
Honorable  Heth  the  ornamental  drone. 

I  do  not  know  why  I  have  dwelt  so  long  on  such  a 
minor  character  as  Bijah,  except  that  the  man  fascinates 
me.  Of  all  the  lieutenants  in  the  state,  his  manners  bore 
the  closest  resemblance  to  those  of  Jethro  Bass.  When 
he  walked  behind  Jethro  in  the  corridors  of  the  Pelican, 
kicking  up  his  heels  behind,  he  might  have  been  taken  for 
Jethro's  shadow.  He  was  of  a  good  height  and  size, 
smooth-shaven,  with  little  eyes  that  kindled,  and  his 
mouth  moved  not  at  all  when  he  spoke:  unlike  Jethro,  he 
"  used  "  tobacco. 

When  Bijah  had  driven  into  Coniston  village  and 
hitched  his  wagon  to  the  rail,  he  went  direct  to  the  store. 
Chester  Perkins  and  others  were  watching  him  with  vari 
ous  emotions  from  the  stoop,  and  Bijah  took  a  seat  in  the 
midst  of  them,  characteristically  engaging  in  conversation 
without  the  usual  conventional  forms  of  greeting,  as  if  he 
had  been  there  all  day. 

"  H-how  much  did  you  git  for  your  wool,  Chester  — 
h-how  much  ?  " 


SHAKE  HANDS  WITH  ME.  BIJAH  BIXBY     105 

"  Guess  you  hain't  here  to  talk  about  wool,  Bije,"  said 
Chester,  red  with  anger. 

"  Kind  of  neglectin'  the  farm  lately,  I  hear,"  observed 
Bijah. 

"  Jethro  Bass  sent  you  up  to  find  out  how  much  I  was 
neglectin'  it,"  retorted  Chester,  throwing  all  caution  to  the 
winds. 

"  Thinkin'  of  upsettiii'  Jethro,  be  you  ?  Thinkin'  of 
upsettin'  Jethro?"  remarked  Bije,  in  a  genial  tone. 

"  Folks  in  Clovelly  hain't  got  nothin'  to  do  with  it,  if 
I  am,"  said  Chester. 

"Leetle  early  for  campaigning  Chester,  leetle  early." 

"  We  do  our  campaigniu'  when  we're  a  mind  to." 

Bijah  looked  around. 

"  Well,  that's  funny.  I  could  have  took  oath  I  seed 
Rias  Richardson  here." 

There  was  a  deep  silence. 

"  And  Sam  Price,"  continued  Bijah,  in  pretended  as 
tonishment,  "  wahn't  he  settin'  on  the  edge  of  the  stoop 
when  I  drove  up?" 

Another  silence,  broken  only  by  the  enraged  breathing 
of  Chester,  who  was  unable  to  retort.  Moses  Hatch 
laughed.  The  discreet  departure  of  these  gentlemen  cer 
tainly  had  its  comical  side. 

"Rias  as  indoostrious  as  ever,  Mose?"  inquired  Bijah. 

"He  has  his  busy  times,"  said  Mose,  grinning  broadly. 

"  See  you've  got  the  boys  with  their  backs  up,  Chester," 
said  Bijah. 

"  Some  of  us  are  sick  of  tyranny,"  cried  Chester ;  "  you 
kin  tell  that  to  Jethro  Bass  when  you  go  back,  if  he's 
got  time  to  listen  to  you  buyin'  and  sellin'  out  of 
railroads." 

"  Hear  Jethro's  got  the  Grand  Gulf  Road  in  his  pocket 
to  do  as  he's  a  mind  to  with,"  said  Moses,  with  a  view  to 
drawing  Bijah  out.  But  the  remark  had  exactly  the 
opposite  effect,  Bijah  screwing  up  his  face  into  an  expres 
sion  of  extraordinary  secrecy  and  cunning. 

"How  much  did  you  git  out  of  it,  Bije?"  demanded 
Chester. 


106  CONISTON 

"  Hain't  looked  through  my  clothes  yet,"  said  Bijah, 
his  face  screwed  up  tighter  than  ever.  "N-never  look 
through  my  clothes  till  I  git  home,  Chester,  it  hain't  safe." 

It  has  become  painfully  evident  that  Mr.  Bixby  is  that 
rare  type  of  man  who  can  sit  down  under  the  enemy's 
ramparts  and  smoke  him  out.  It  was  a  rule  of  Jethro's 
code  either  to  make  an  effective  departure  or  else  to 
remain  and  compel  the  other  man  to  make  an  inef 
fective  departure.  Lem  Hallowell  might  have  coped  with 
him ;  but  the  stage  was  late,  and  after  some  scratching  of 
heads  and  delving  for  effectual  banter  (through  which 
Mr.  Bixby  sat  genial  and  unconcerned),  Chester's  fol 
lowers  took  their  leave,  each  choosing  his  own  pretext. 

In  the  meantime  William  Wetherell  had  entered  the 
store  by  the  back  door  —  unperceived,  as  he  hoped.  He 
had  a  vehement  desire  to  be  left  in  peace,  and  to  avoid 
politics  and  political  discussions  forever  —  vain  desire  for 
the  storekeeper  of  Coniston.  Mr.  Wetherell  entered  the 
store,  and  to  take  his  mind  from  his  troubles,  he  picked  up 
a  copy  of  Byron:  gradually  the  conversation  on  the  stoop 
died  away,  and  just  as  he  was  beginning  to  congratulate 
himself  and  enjoy  the  book,  he  had  an  unpleasant  sensation 
of  some  one  approaching  him  measuredly.  Wetherell  did 
not  move  ;  indeed,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  —  he  was  as 
though  charmed  to  the  spot.  He  could  have  cried  aloud, 
but  the  store  was  empty,  and  there  was  no  one  to  hear  him. 
Mr.  Bixby  did  not  speak  until  he  was  within  a  foot  of  his 
victim's  ear.  His  voice  was  very  nasal,  too. 

"Wetherell,  hain't  it?" 

The  victim  nodded  helplessly. 

"  Want  to  see  you  a  minute." 

"  What  is  it?  " 

"  Where  can  we  talk  private  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Bixby,  look 
ing  around. 

"  There's  no  one  here,"  Wetherell  answered.  "  What 
do  you  wish  to  say  ?  " 

"  If  the  boys  was  to  see  me  speakin'  to  you,  they  might 
git  suspicious  —  you  understand,"  he  confided,  his  manner 
conveying  a  hint  that  they  shared  some  common  policy. 


SHAKE  HANDS  WITH  ME.  BIJAH  BIXBY     107 

"  I  don't  meddle,  with  politics,"  said  Wetherell,  desper 
ately. 

"Ex'actly!  "  answered  Bijah,  coming  even  closer.  "I 
knowed  you  was  a  level-headed  man,  moment  I  set  eyes  on 
you.  Made  up  my  mind  I'd  have  a  little  talk  in  private 
with  you  —  you  understand.  The  boys  hain't  got  no  rea 
son  to  suspicion  you  care  anything  about  politics,  have 
they?" 

"  None  whatever." 

"  You  don't  pay  no  attention  to  what  they  say  ?  " 

"None." 

"You  hear  it?" 

"  Sometimes  I  can't  help  it." 

"  Ex'actly  !     You  hear  it." 

"  I  told  you  I  couldn't  help  it." 

"  Want  you  should  vote  right  when  the  time  comes," 
said  Bijah.  "  D-don't  want  to  see  such  an  intelligent 
man  go  wrong  an'  be  sorry  for  it  —  you  understand. 
Chester  Perkins  is  hare-brained.  Jethro  Bass  runs  things 
in  this  state." 

"  Mr.  Bixby  —  " 

"  You  understand,"  said  Bijah,  screwing  up  his  face. 
"  Guess  your  watch  is  a-comin' out."  He  tucked  it  back 
caressingly,  and  started  for  the  door  —  the  back  door. 
Involuntarily  Wetherell  put  his  hand  to  his  pocket,  felt 
something  crackle  under  it,  and  drew  the  something  out. 
To  his  amazement  it  was  a  ten-dollar  bill. 

"  Here  !  "  he  cried  so  sharply  in  his  fright  that  Mr. 
Bixby  turned  around.  Wetherell  ran  after  him.  "  Take 
this  back  !  " 

"  Guess  you  got  me,"  said  Bijah.     "  W-what  is  it  ?" 

"  This  money  is  yours,"  cried  Wetherell,  so  loudly  that 
Bijah  started  and  glanced  at  the  front  of  the  store. 

"  Guess  you  made  some  mistake,"  he  said,  staring  at 
the  storekeeper  with  such  amazing  innocence  that  he  be 
gan  to  doubt  his  senses,  and  clutched  the  bill  to  see  if  it 
was  real. 

"  But  I  had  no  money  in  my  pocket,"  said  Wetherell, 
perplexedly.  And  then,  gaining  indignation,  "  Take 


108  CONISTON 

this  to  the  man  who  sent  you,  and  give  it  back  to 
him." 

But  Bijah  merely  whispered  caressingly  in  his  ear, 
"  Nobody  sent  me,  —  you  understand,  —  nobody  sent  me," 
and  was  gone.  Wetherell  stood  for  a  moment,  dazed  by 
the  man's  audacity,  and  then,  hurrying  to  the  front  stoop, 
the  money  still  in  his  hand,  he  perceived  Mr.  Bixby  in  the 
sunlit  road  walking,  Jethro-fashion,  toward  Ephraim  Pres- 
cott's  harness  shop. 

"  Why,  Daddy,"  said  Cynthia,  coming  in  from  the 
garden,  "  where  did  you  get  all  that  money  ?  Your 
troubles  must  feel  better." 

"  It  is  not  mine,"  said  Wetherell,  starting.  And  then, 
quivering  with  anger  and  mortification,  he  sank  down  on 
the  stoop  to  debate  what  he  should  do. 

"  Is  it  somebodv  else's  ?  "  asked  the  child,  presently. 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  give  it  back  to  them,  Daddy  ?  " 

How  was  Wetherell  to  know,  in  his  fright,  that  Mr. 
Bixby  had  for  once  indulged  in  an  overabundance  of  zeal 
in  Jethro's  behalf  ?  He  went  to  the  door,  laughter  came 
to  him  across  the  green  from  the  harness  shop,  and  his 
eye  following  the  sound,  fastened  on  Bijah  seated  com 
fortably  in  the  midst  of  the  group  there.  Bitterly  the 
storekeeper  comprehended  that,  had  he  possessed  courage, 
he  would  have  marched  straight  after  Mr.  Bixby  and  con 
fronted  him  before  them  all  with  the  charge  of  bribery. 
The  blood  throbbed  in  his  temples,  and  yet  he  sat 
there,  trembling,  despising  himself,  repeating  that  he 
might  have  had  the  courage  if  Jethro  Bass  had  not  bought 
the  mortgage.  The  fear  of  the  man  had  entered  the 
storekeeper's  soul. 

"  Does  it  belong  to  that  man  over  there  ? "  asked 
Cynthia. 

"  Yes." 

"  I'll  take  it  to  him,  Daddy,"  and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Not  now,"  Wetherell  answered  nervously,  glancing 
at  the  group.  He  went  into  the  store,  addressed  an  en 
velope  to  "  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby  of  Clovelly,"  and  gave  it  to 


SHAKE  HANDS  WITH  ME.  BIJAH  BIXBY     109 

Cynthia.  "  When  he  comes  back  for  his  wagon,  hand  it 
to  him,"  he  said,  feeling  that  he  would  rather,  at  that 
moment,  face  the  devil  himself  than  Mr.  Bixby. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Cynthia  gave  Mr.  Bixby  the  enve 
lope  as  he  unhitched  his  horse;  and  so  deftly  did  Bijah  slip 
it  into  his  pocket,  that  he  must  certainly  have  misjudged 
its  contents.  None  of  the  loungers  at  Ephraim's  remarked 
the  transaction. 

If  Jethro  had  indeed  instructed  Bijah  to  look  after  his 
flock  at  Coniston,  it  was  an  ill-conditioned  move,  and  some 
of  the  flock  resented  it  when  they  were  quite  sure  that 
Bijah  was  climbing  the  notch  road  toward  Clovelly. 
The  discussion  (from  which  the  storekeeper  was  provi 
dentially  omitted)  was  in  full  swing  when  the  stage 
arrived,  and  Lem  Hallowell's  voice  silenced  the  uproar. 
It  was  Lem's  boast  that  he  never  had  been  and  never 
would  be  a  politician. 

"  Why  don't  you  folks  quit  railin'  against  Jethro  and 
do  somethin'  ?"  he  said.  "Bije  turns  up  here,  and  you  all 
scatter  like  a  flock  of  crows.  I'm  tired  of  makin'  com 
plaints  about  that  Brampton  road,  and  to-day  the  hull 
side  of  it  give  way,  and  put  me  in  the  ditch.  Sure  as  the 
sun  rises  to-morrow,  I'm  goin'  to  make  trouble  for  Jethro." 

"  What  be  you  a-goin'  to  do,  Lem  ?  " 

"  Indict  the  town,"  replied  Lem,  vigorously.  "  Who  is 
the  town  ?  Jethro,  hain't  he  ?  Who  has  charge  of  the 
highways  ?  Jethro  Bass,  Chairman  of  the  Selectmen. 
I've  spoke  to  him,  time  and  agin,  about  that  piece,  and  he 
hain't  done  nothin'.  To-night  I  go  to  Harwich  and  git 
the  court  to  app'int  an  agent  to  repair  that  road,  and 
the  town'll  hev  to  pay  the  bill." 

The  boldness  of  Lem's  intention  for  the  moment  took 
away  their  breaths,  and  then  the  awe-stricken  hush  which 
followed  his  declaration  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  Ches 
ter's  fist  hammering  on  the  counter. 

"  That's  the  sperrit,"  he  cried;  "  I'll  go  along  with  you, 
Lem." 

"  No,  you  won't,"  said  Lem,  "  you'll  stay  right  whar 
you  be." 


110  CONISTON 

"  Chester  wants  to  git  credit  for  the  move,"  suggested 
Sam  Price,  slyly. 

"  It's  a  lie,  Sam  Price,"  shouted  Chester.  "  What  made 
you  sneak  off  when  Bije  Bixby  come  ?  " 

"  Didn't  sneak  off,"  retorted  Sam,  indignantly,  through 
his  nose  ;  "forgot  them  eggs  I  left  to  home." 

"  Sam,"  said  Lem,  with  a  wink  at  Moses  Hatch,  "  you 
hitch  up  your  hoss  and  fetch  me  over  to  Harwich  to  git 
that  indictment.  Might  git  a  chance  to  see  that  lady." 

"  Wai,  now,  I  wish  I  could,  Lem,  but  my  hoss  is  stun 
lame." 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter,  during  which  Sam  tried 
to  look  unconcerned. 

"Mebbe  Rias'll  take  me  over,"  said  Lem,  soberly. 
"  You  hitch  up,  Rias  ?  " 

"  He's  gone,"  said  Joe  Northcutt,  "  slid  out  the  door 
when  you  was  speakin'  to  Sam." 

"  Hain't  none  of  you  folks  got  spunk  enough  to  carry 
me  over  to  see  the  jedge  ?  "  demanded  Lem  ;  "my  hosses 
ain't  fit  to  travel  to-night."  Another  silence  followed,  and 
Lem  laughed  contemptuously  but  good-naturedly,  and 
turned  on  his  heel.  "Guess  I'll  walk,  then,"  he  said. 

"  You  kin  have  my  white  hoss,  Lem,"  said  Moses  Hatch. 

"All  right,"  said  Lem;  "I'll  come  round  and  hitch  up 
soon's  I  git  my  supper." 

An  hour  later,  when  Cynthia  and  her  father  and  Milli- 
cent  Skinner  —  who  condescended  to  assist  in  the  work 
and  cooking  of  Mr.  Wetherell's  household  —  were  seated 
at  supper  in  the  little  kitchen  behind  the  store,  the  head 
and  shoulders  of  the  stage-driver  were  thrust  in  at  the 
window,  his  face  shining  from  its  evening  application  of 
soap  and  water.  He  was  making  eyes  at  Cynthia. 

"  Want  to  go  to  Harwich,  Will  ?  "  he  asked. 

William  set  his  cup  down  quickly. 

"  You  hain't  afeard,  be  you  ?  "  he  continued.  "  Most 
folks  that  hasn't  went  West  or  died  is  afeard  of  Jethro 
Bass." 

"  Daddy  isn't  afraid  of  him,  and  I'm  not,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  That's  right,  Cynthy,"  said  Lem,  leaning  over  and  giv- 


SHAKE  HANDS  WITH  ME.  BIJAH  BIXBY     111 

ing  a  tug  to  the  pigtail  that  hung  down  her  back;  "  there 
hain't  nothin'  to  be  afeard  of." 

"  I  like  him,"  said  Cynthia;  "  he's  very  good  to  me." 

"  You  stick  to  him,  Cynthy,"  said  the  stage  driver. 
"  Ready,  Will  ?  " 

It  may  readily  be  surmised  that  Mr.  Wetherell  did  not 
particularly  wish  to  make  this  excursion,  the  avowed  object 
of  which  was  to  get  Mr.  Bass  into  trouble.  But  he  went, 
and  presently  he  found  himself  jogging  along  on  the  moun 
tain  road  to  Harwich.  From  the  crest  of  Town's  End  ridge 
they  looked  upon  the  western  peaks  tossing  beneath  a 
golden  sky.  The  spell  of  the  evening's  beauty  seemed  to 
have  fallen  on  them  both,  and  for  a  long  time  Lem  spoke 
not  a  word,  and  nodded  smilingly  but  absently  to  the 
greetings  that  came  from  the  farm  doorways. 

"  Will,"  he  said  at  last,  "  you  acted  sensible.  There's 
no  mite  of  use  of  your  gettin'  mixed  up  in  politics. 
You're  too  good  for  'em." 

"  Too  good  !  "  exclaimed  the  storekeeper. 

"  You're  eddicated,"  Lem  replied,  with  a  tactful  attempt 
to  cover  up  a  deficiency  ;  "  you're  a  gentleman,  ef  you  do 
keep  store." 

Lemuel  apparently  thought  that  gentlemen  and  politics 
were  contradictions.  He  began  to  whistle,  while  Wetherell 
sat  and  wondered  that  any  one  could  be  so  care-free  on 
such  a  mission.  The  day  faded,  and  went  out,  and  the 
lights  of  Harwich  twinkled  in  the  valley.  Wetherell  was 
almost  tempted  to  mention  his  trouble  to  this  man,  as  he 
had  been  to  Ephraim  :  the  fear  that  each  might  think  he 
wished  to  borrow  money  held  him  back. 

"  Jethro's  all  right,"  Lem  remarked,  "but  if  he  neglects 
the  road,  he's  got  to  stand  for  it.  same's  any  other.  I  writ 
him  twice  to  the  capital,  and  give  him  fair  warning  afore  he 
went.  He  knows  I  hain't  doin' of  it  for  politics.  I've  often 
thought,"  Lem  continued,  "  that  ef  some  smart,  good 
woman  could  have  got  hold  of  him  when  he  was  young,  it 
would  have  made  a  big  difference.  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Have  you  room  enough  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I've  got  the  hull  seat,"  said  Lem.     "As  I  was 


112  CONISTON 

sayin',  if  some  able  woman  had  married  Jethro  and  made 
him  look  at  things  a  little  mite  different,  he  would  have 
b'en  a  big  man.  He  has  all  the  earmarks.  Why,  when 
he  comes  back  to  Coniston,  them  fellers'll  hunt  their  holes 
like  rabbits,  mark  my  words." 

"  You  don't  think  - 

"  Don't  think  what  ?  " 

"  I  understand  he  holds  the  mortgages  of  some  of  them," 
said  Wetherell. 

"  Shouldn't  blame  him  a  great  deal  ef  he  did  git  tired 
and  sell  Chester  out  soon.  This  thing  happens  regular 
as  leap  year." 

"  Jethro  Bass  doesn't  seem  to  frighten  you,"  said  the 
storekeeper. 

"  Well,"  said  Lem,  "  I  hain't  afeard  of  him,  that's  so. 
For  the  life  of  me,  I  can't  help  likin'  him,  though  he  does 
things  that  I  wouldn't  do  for  all  the  power  in  Christendom. 
Here's  Jedge  Parkinson's  house." 

Wetherell  remained  in  the  wagon  while  Lemuel  went  in 
to  transact  his  business.  The  judge's  house,  outlined  in 
the  starlight,  was  a  modest  dwelling  with  a  little  porch 
and  clambering  vines,  set  back  in  its  own  garden  behind  a 
picket  fence.  Presently,  from  the  direction  of  the  lines  of 
light  in  the  shutters,  came  the  sound  of  voices,  Lem's  deep 
and  insistent,  and  another,  pitched  in  a  high  nasal  key, 
deprecatory  and  protesting.  There  was  still  another,  a 
harsh  one  that  growled  something  unintelligible,  and 
Wetherell  guessed,  from  the  fragments  which  he  heard, 
that  the  judge  before  sitting  down  to  his  duty  was  trying 
to  dissuade  the  stage  driver  from  a  step  that  was  foolhardy. 
He  guessed  likewise  that  Lem  was  not  to  be  dissuaded. 
At  length  a  silence  followed,  then  the  door  swung  open, 
and  three  figures  came  down  the  illuminated  path. 

"  Like  to  make  you  acquainted  with  Jedge  Abner 
Parkinson,  Mr.  Wetherell,  and  Jim  Irving.  Jim's  the 
sheriff  of  Truro  County,  and  I  guess  the  jedge  don't  need 
any  recommendation  as  a  lawyer  from  me.  You  won't 
mind  stayin'  awhile  with  the  jedge  while  Jim  and  I  go 
down  town  with  the  team?  You're  both  literary  folks." 


SHAKE  HANDS  WITH  MR.  BIJAH  BIXBY     113 

Wetherell  followed  the  judge  into  the  house.  He  was 
sallow,  tall  and  spare  and  stooping,  clean-shaven,  with  a 
hooked  nose  and  bright  eyes  —  the  face  of  an  able  and 
adroit  man,  and  he  wore  the  long  black  coat  of  the  poli 
tician-lawyer.  The  room  was  filled  with  books,  and  from 
these  Judge  Parkinson  immediately  took  his  cue,  probably 
through  a  fear  that  Wetherell  might  begin  on  the  subject  of 
Lemuel's  errand.  However,  it  instantly  became  plain  that 
the  judge  was  a  true  book  lover,  and  despite  the  fact  that 
Lem's  visit  had  disturbed  him  not  a  little,  he  soon  grew 
animated  in  a  discussion  on  the  merits  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  paced  the  room,  pitched  his  nasal  voice  higher  and 
higher,  covered  his  table  with  volumes  of  that  author  to 
illustrate  his  meaning.  Neither  of  them  heard  a  knock, 
and  they  both  stared  dumfounded  at  the  man  who  filled 
the  doorway. 

It  was  Jethro  Bass  ! 

He  entered  the  room  with  characteristic  unconcern,  as 
if  he  had  just  left  it  on  a  trivial  errand,  and  without  a 
"  How  do  you  do  ?"  or  a  "  Good  evening,"  parted  his  coat 
tails,  and  sat  down  in  the  judge's  armchair.  The  judge 
dropped  the  volume  of  Scott  on  the  desk,  and  as  for 
Wetherell,  he  realized  for  once  the  full  meaning  of  the 
biblical  expression  of  a  man's  tongue  cleaving  to  the  roof 
of  his  mouth  ;  the  gleam  of  one  of  Jethro's  brass  buttons 
caught  his  eye  and  held  it  fascinated. 

"  Literary  talk,  Judge  ?  "  said  Jethro.  "  D-don't  mind 
me  —  go  on." 

"Thought  you  were  at  the  capital,"  said  the  judge, 
reclaiming  some  of  his  self-possession. 

"Good  many  folks  thought  so,"  answered  Jethro, 
"g-good  many  folks." 

There  was  no  conceivable  answer  to  this,  so  the  judge 
sat  down  with  an  affectation  of  ease.  He  was  a  man  on 
whom  dignity  lay  heavily,  and  was  not  a  little  ruffled  be 
cause  Wetherell  had  been  a  witness  of  his  discomfiture. 
He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  then  leaned  forward,  stretch 
ing  his  neck  and  clearing  his  throat,  a  position  in  which 
he  bore  a  ludicrous  resemblance  to  a  turkey  gobbler. 


114  CONISTON 

"  Most  through  the  Legislature  ?  "  inquired  the  judge. 

"  'Bout  as  common,"  said  Jethro. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  and,  forgetful  for  the  moment 
of  his  own  predicament,  Wetherell  found  a  fearful  fasci 
nation  in  watching  the  contortions  of  the  victim  whose 
punishment  was  to  precede  his.  It  had  been  one  of  the 
delights  of  Louis  XI  to  contemplate  the  movements  of  a 
certain  churchman  whom  he  had  had  put  in  a  cage,  and 
some  inkling  of  the  pleasure  to  be  derived  from  this  pastime 
of  tyrants  dawned  on  Wetherell.  Perhaps  the  judge,  too, 
thought  of  this  as  he  looked  at  "  Quentin  Durward  "  on  the 
table. 

"  I  was  just  sayin'  to  Lem  Hallowell,"  began  the  judge, 
at  last,  "  that  I  thought  he  was  a  little  mite  hasty  —  " 

"  Er  —  indicted  us,  Judge?"  said  Jethro. 

The  judge  and  Wetherell  heard  the  question  with 
different  emotions.  Mr.  Parkinson  did  not  seem  astonished 
at  the  miracle  which  had  put  Jethro  in  possession  of  this 
information,  but  heaved  a  long  sigh  of  relief,  as  a  man 
will  when  the  worst  has  at  length  arrived. 

"  I  had  to,  Jethro  —  couldn't  help  it.  I  tried  to  get 
Hallowell  to  wait  till  you  come  back  and  talk  it  over 
friendly,  but  he  wouldn't  listen  ;  said  the  road  was  danger 
ous,  and  that  he'd  spoken  about  it  too  often.  He  said  he 
hadn't  anything  against  you." 

"  Didn't  come  in  to  complain,"  said  Jethro,  "  didn't  come 
in  to  complain.  Road  is  out  of  repair.  W-what's  the 
next  move?" 

"I'm  sorry,  Jethro  —  I  swan  I'm  sorry."  He  cleared 
his  throat.  "  Well,"  he  continued  in  his  judicial  manner, 
"  the  court  has  got  to  appoint  an  agent  to  repair  that 
road,  the  agent  will  present  the  bill,  and  the  town  will  have 
to  pay  the  bill  —  whatever  it  is.  It's  too  bad,  Jethro, 
that  you  have  allowed  this  to  be  done." 

"  You  say  you've  got  to  app'int  an  agent  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  I'm  sorry  —  " 

"  Have  you  app'inted  one  ?  " 

"No." 

"  G-got  any  candidates  ?  " 


SHAKE  HANDS  WITH  ME.  BIJAH  BIXBY     115 

The  judge  scratched  his  head. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  have." 

"  Well,  have  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  judge. 

"  A-any  legal  objection  to  my  bein'  app'inted  ?  "  asked 
Jethro. 

The  judge  looked  at  him  and  gasped.  But  the  look 
was  an  involuntary  tribute  of  admiration. 

"  Well,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  "  I  don't  know  as  there  is, 
Jethro.  No,  there's  no  legal  objection  to  it." 

"  A-any  other  kind  of  objection  ?  "  said  Jethro. 

The  judge  appeared  to  reflect. 

"  Well,  no,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  don't  know  as  there  is." 

"  Well,  is  there  ?  "  said  Jethro,  again. 

"  No,"  said  the  judge,  with  the  finality  of  a  decision. 
A  smile  seemed  to  be  pulling  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"  Well,  I'm  a  candidate,"  said  Jethro. 

"  Do  you  tell  me,  Jethro,  that  you  want  me  to  appoint 
you  agent  to  fix  that  road  ?  " 

"I  —  I'm  a  candidate." 

"  Well,"  said  the  judge,  rising,  "  I'll  do  it." 

"  When  ?  "  said  Jethro,  sitting  still. 

"  I'll  send  the  papers  over  to  you  within  two  or  three 
days." 

"  O-ought  to  be  done  right  away,  Judge.  Road's  in 
bad  shape." 

"  Well,  I'll  send  the  papers  over  to  you  to-morrow." 

"  How  long  would  it  take  to  make  out  that  app'intment 
—  how  long?  " 

"It  wouldn't  take  but  a  little  while." 

"  I'll  wait,"  said  Jethro. 

"  Do  you  want  to  take  the  appointment  along  with  you 
to-night  ?  "  asked  the  judge,  in  surprise. 

"  G-guess  that's  about  it." 

Without  a  word  the  judge  went  over  to  his  table,  and 
for  a  while  the  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  scratching 
of  his  pen. 

"  Er  —  interested  in  roads,  —  Will,  —  interested  in 
roads  ?  " 


116  CONISTON 

The  judge  stopped  writing  to  listen,  since  it  was  now 
the  turn  of  the  other  victim. 

"  Not  particularly,"  answered  Mr.  Wetherell,  whose 
throat  was  dry. 

"  C-come  over  for  the  drive  —  c-come  over  for  the 
drive  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  storekeeper,  rather  faintly. 

"  H-how's  Cynthy  ?  "  said  Jethro. 

The  storekeeper  was  too  astonished  to  answer.  At 
that  moment  there  was  a  heavy  step  in  the  doorway,  and 
Lem  Hallowell  entered  the  room.  He  took  one  long  look 
at  Jethro  and  bent  over  and  slapped  his  hand  on  his 
knee,  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"So  here  you  be  !"  he  cried.  "By  Godfrey!  ef  you 
don't  beat  all  outdoors,  Jethro.  Wai,  I  got  ahead  of  ye 
for  once,  but  you  can't  say  I  didn't  warn  ye.  Come 
purty  nigh  bustin'  the  stage  on  that  road  to-day,  and  now 
I'm  a-goin'  to  hev  an  agent  app'inted." 

"  W-who's  the  agent  ?  "  said  Jethro. 

"We'll  git  one.  Might  app'int  Will,  there,  only  he 
don't  seem  to  want  to  get  mixed  up  in  it." 

"  There's  the  agent,"  cried  the  judge,  holding  out  the 
appointment  to  Jethro. 

"  Wh-what  !  "  ejaculated  Lem. 

Jethro  took  the  appointment,  and  put  it  in  his  cowhide 
wallet. 

"Be  you  the  agent?"  demanded  the  amazed  stage 
driver. 

"  C-callate  to  be,"  said  Jethro,  and  without  a  smile  or 
another  word  to  any  one  he  walked  out  into  the  night,  and 
after  various  exclamations  of  astonishment  and  admiration, 
the  stage  driver  followed. 

No  one,  indeed,  could  have  enjoyed  this  unexpected 
coup  of  Jethro's  more  than  Lem  himself,  and  many  times 
on  their  drive  homeward  he  burst  into  loud  and  unexpected 
fits  of  laughter  at  the  sublime  conception  of  the  Chairman 
of  the  Selectmen  being  himself  appointed  road  agent. 

"  Will,"  said  he,  "  don't  you  tell  this  to  a  soul.  We'll 
have  some  fun  out  of  some  of  the  boys  to-morrow." 


SHAKE  HANDS  WITH  MR.  BIJAH  BIXBY     117 

The  storekeeper  promised,  but  he  had  an  unpleasant 
presentiment  that  he  himself  might  be  one  of  the  boys 
in  question. 

"  How  do  you  suppose  Jethro  Bass  knew  you  were  going 
to  indict  the  town  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  stage  driver. 

Lem  burst  into  fresh  peals  of  laughter,  but  this  was 
something  which  he  did  not  attempt  to  answer. 


CHAPTER  X 

HOW  THE  REBELLION  WAS  QUENCHED 

IT  so  happened  that  there  was  a  certain  spinster  whom 
Sam  Price  had  been  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  to  marry 
for  ten  years  or  more,  and  it  was  that  gentleman's  habit 
to  spend  at  least  one  day  in  the  month  in  Harwich  for 
the  purpose  of  paying  his  respects.  In  spite  of  the  fact 
that  his  horse  had  been  "  stun  lame  "  the  night  before,  Mr. 
Price  was  able  to  start  for  Harwich,  via  Brampton,  very 
early  the  next  morning.  He  was  driving  along  through 
Northcutt's  woods  with  one  leg  hanging  over  the  wheel, 
humming  through  his  nose  what  we  may  suppose  to  have 
been  a  love-ditty,  and  letting  his  imagination  run  riot 
about  the  lady  in  question,  when  he  nearly  fell  out  of  his 
wagon.  The  cause  of  this  was  the  sight  of  fat  Tom  coming 
around  a  corner,  with  Jethro  Bass  behind  him.  Lem  Hal- 
lowell  and  the  storekeeper  had  kept  their  secret  so  well 
that  Sam,  if  he  was  thinking  about  Jethro  at  all,  believed 
him  at  that  moment  to  be  seated  in  the  Throne  Room  at 
the  Pelican  House,  in  the  capital. 

Mr.  Price,  however,  was  one  of  an  adaptable  nature, 
and  by  the  time  he  had  pulled  up  beside  Jethro  he  had 
recovered  sufficiently  to  make  a  few  remarks  on  farming 
subjects,  and  finally  to  express  a  polite  surprise  at  Jethro's 
return. 

"  But  you  come  a  little  mite  late,  hain't  you,  Jethro  ?  " 
he  asked  finally,  with  all  of  the  indifference  he  could 
assume. 

"  H-how's  that,  Sam  —how's  that  ?  " 

"  It's  too  bad,  —  I  swan  it  is,  —  but  Lem  Hallo  well  rode 
over  to  Harwich  last  night  and  indicted  the  town  for 

118 


HOW  THE  REBELLION  WAS  QUENCHED      119 

that  piece  of  road  by  the  Four  Corners.  Took  Will 
Wetherell  along  with  him." 

"  D-don't  say  so  !  "  said  Jethro. 

"  I  callate  he  done  it,"  responded  Sam,  pulling  a  long 
face.  "  The  court'll  hev  to  send  an  agent  to  do  the  job, 
and  I  guess  you'll  hev  to  foot  the  bill,  Jethro." 

"  C-court'll  hev  to  app'int  an  agent  ?  " 

"  I  callate." 

"Er  —  you  a  candidate  —  Sam  — you  a  candidate  ?  " 

"  Don't  know  but  what  I  be,"  answered  the  usually  wary 
Mr.  Price. 

"  G-goin'  to  Harwich  —  hain't  you  ?  " 

"  Mebbe  I  be,  and  mebbe  I  hain't,"  said  Sam,  not  able  to 
repress  a  self-conscious  snicker. 

"  M-might  as  well  be  you  as  anybody,  Sam,"  said  Jethro, 
as  he  drove  on. 

It  was  not  strange  that  the  idea,  thus  planted,  should  grow 
in  Mr.  Price's  favor  as  he  proceeded.  He  had  been  sur 
prised  at  Jethro's  complaisance,  and  he  wondered  whether, 
after  all,  he  had  done  well  to  help  Chester  stir  people  up 
at  this  time.  When  he  reached  Harwich,  instead  of  pre 
senting  himself  promptly  at  the  spinster's  house,  he  went 
first  to  the  office  of  Judge  Parkinson,  as  became  a  prudent 
man  of  affairs. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  need  to  go  into  the  details  of  Mr. 
Price's  discomfiture  on  the  occasion  of  this  interview. 
The  judge  was  by  nature  of  a  sour  disposition,  but  he 
haw-hawed  so  loudly  as  he  explained  to  Mr.  Price  the 
identity  of  the  road  agent  that  the  judge  of  probate  in  the 
next  office  thought  his  colleague  had  gone  mad.  'After 
ward  Mr.  Price  stood  for  some  time  in  the  entry,  where 
no  one  could  see  him,  scratching  his  head  and  repeating 
his  favorite  exclamation,  "  I  want  to  know  !  "  It  has  been 
ascertained  that  he  omitted  to  pay  his  respects  to  ere 
spinster  on  that  day. 

Cyamon  Johnson  carried  the  story  back  to  Coniston, 
where  it  had  the  effect  of  eliminating  Mr.  Price  from  local 
politics  for  some  time  to  come. 

That  same  morning  Chester  Perkins  was  seen  by  many 


120  CONISTON 

driving  wildly  about  from  farm  to  farm,  supposedly  ha 
ranguing  his  supporters  to  make  a  final  stand  against  the 
tyrant,  but  by  noon  it  was  observed  by  those  naturalists 
who  were  watching  him  that  his  activity  had  ceased. 
Chester  arrived  at  dinner  time  at  Joe  Northcutt's,  whose 
land  bordered  on  the  piece  of  road  which  had  caused  so 
much  trouble,  and  Joe  and  half  a  dozen  others  had  been  at 
work  there  all  morning  under  the  road  agent  whom  Judge 
Parkinson  had  appointed.  Now  Mrs.  Northcutt  was  Ches 
ter's  sister,  a  woman  who  in  addition  to  other  qualities 
possessed  the  only  sense  of  humor  in  the  family.  She 
ushered  the  unsuspecting  Chester  into  the  kitchen,  and 
there,  seated  beside  Joe  and  sipping  a  saucer  of  very  hot 
coffee,  was  Jethro  Bass  himself.  Chester  halted  in  the 
doorway,  his  face  brick-red,  words  utterly  failing  him, 
while  Joe  sat  horror-stricken,  holding  aloft  on  his  fork  a 
smoking  potato.  Jethro  continued  to  sip  his  coffee. 

"B-busy  times,  Chester,"  he  said,  "  b-busy  times." 

Chester  choked.  Where  were  the  burning  words  of 
denunciation  which  came  so  easily  to  his  tongue  on  other 
occasions  ?  It  is  difficult  to  denounce  a  man  who  insists 
upon  drinking  coffee. 

"  Set  right  down,  Chester,"  said  Mrs.  Northcutt,  behind 
him. 

Chester  sat  down,  and  to  this  day  he  cannot  account 
for  that  action.  Once  seated,  habit  asserted  itself,  and 
he  attacked  the  boiled  dinner  with  a  ferocity  which  should 
have  been  exercised  against  Jethro. 

"  I  suppose  the  stores  down  to  the  capital  is  finer  than 
ever,  Mr.  Bass,"  remarked  Mrs.  Northcutt. 

"So-so,  Mis'  Northcutt,  so-so." 

"  I  was  there  ten  years  ago,"  remarked  Mrs.  Northcutt, 
with  a  sigh  of  reminiscence,  "  and  I  never  see  such  fine 
silks  and  bonnets  in  my  life.  Now  I've  often  wanted  to 
ask  you,  did  you  buy  that  bonnet  with  the  trembly  jet 
things  for  Mis'  Bass  ?  " 

"  That  bonnet  come  out  full  better'n  I  expected,"  an 
swered  Jethro,  modestly. 

"  You   have  got  taste  in  wimmin's  fixin's,   Mr.   Bass. 


HOW  THE  EEBELLION  WAS  QUENCHED      121 

Strange  !  Now  I  wouldn't  let  Joe  choose  my  things  for 
worlds." 

So  the  dinner  progressed,  Joe  with  his  eyes  on  his  plate, 
Chester  silent,  but  bursting  with  anger  and  resentment, 
until  at  last  Jethro  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  said  good 
day  to  Mrs.  Northcutt  and  walked  out.  Chester  got  up 
instantly  and  went  after  him,  and  Joe,  full  of  forebodings, 
followed  his  brother-in-law  !  Jethro  was  standing  calmly 
on  the  grass  plot,  whittling  a  toothpick.  Chester  stared 
at  him  a  moment,  and  then  strode  off  toward  the  barn, 
unhitched  his  horse  and  jumped  in  his  wagon.  Something 
prompted  him  to  take  another  look  at  Jethro,  who  was  still 
whittling. 

"  C-carry  me  down  to  the  road,  Chester  —  c-carry  me 
down  to  the  road  ?  "  said  Jethro. 

Joe  Northcutt's  knees  gave  way  under  him,  and  he  sat 
down  on  a  sugar  kettle.  Chester  tightened  up  his  reins 
so  suddenly  that  his  horse  reared,  while  Jethro  calmly 
climbed  into  the  seat  beside  him  and  they  drove  off. 
It  was  some  time  before  Joe  had  recovered  sufficiently 
to  arise  and  repair  to  the  scene  of  operations  on  the 
road. 

It  was  Joe  who  brought  the  astounding  news  to  the 
store  that  evening.  Chester  was  Jethro's  own  candidate 
for  senior  Selectman!  Jethro  himself  had  said  so,  that 
he  would  be  happy  to  abdicate  in  Chester's  favor,  and 
make  it  unanimous  —  Chester  having  been  a  candidate  so 
many  times,  and  disappointed. 

"  Whar's  Chester  ?  "  said  Lena  Hallowell. 

Joe  pulled  a  long  face. 

"  Just  come  from  his  house,  and  he  hain't  done  a  lick  of 
work  sence  noon  time.  Jest  sets  in  a  corner  —  won't  talk, 
won't  eat —  jest  sets  thar." 

Lem  sat  down  on  the  counter  and  laughed  until  he  was 
forced  to  brush  the  tears  from  his  cheeks  at  the  idea  of 
Chester  Perkins  being  Jethro's  candidate.  Where  was 
reform  now  ?  If  Chester  were  elected,  it  would  be  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world  as  Jethro's  man.  No  wonder  he  sat  in 
a  corner  and  refused  to  eat. 


122  CONISTON 

"  Guess  you'll  ketch  it  next,  Will,  for  goin'  over  to 
Harwich  with  Lem,"  Joe  remarked  playfully  to  the  store 
keeper,  as  he  departed. 

These  various  occurrences  certainly  did  not  tend  to 
allay  the  uneasiness  of  Mr.  Wetherell.  The  next  after 
noon,  at  a  time  when  a  slack  trade  was  slackest,  he  had 
taken  his  chair  out  under  the  apple  tree  and  was  sitting 
with  that  same  volume  of  Byron  in  his  lap  —  but  he  was 
not  reading.  The  humorous  aspects  of  the  doings  of 
Mr.  Bass  did  not  particularly  appeal  to  him  now  ;  and  he 
was,  in  truth,  beginning  to  hate  this  man  whom  the  fates 
had  so  persistently  intruded  into  his  life.  William  Weth 
erell  was  not,  it  may  have  been  gathered,  what  may  be 
called  vindictive.  He  was  a  sensitive,  conscientious  per 
son  whose  life  should  have  been  in  the  vale  ;  and  yet  at 
that  moment  he  had  a  fierce  desire  to  confront  Jethro  Bass 
and  —  and  destroy  him.  Yes,  he  felt  equal  to  that. 

Shocks  are  not  very  beneficial  to  sensitive  natures. 
William  Wetherell  looked  up,  and  there  was  Jethro  Bass 
on  the  doorstep. 

"  G-great  resource  —  readin'  —  great  resource,"  he  re 
marked. 

In  this  manner  Jethro  snuffed  out  utterly  that  pas 
sion  to  destroy,  and  another  sensation  took  its  place  — 
a  sensation  which  made  it  very  difficult  for  William  Weth 
erell  to  speak,  but  he  managed  to  reply  that  reading  had 
been  a  great  resource  to  him.  Jethro  had  a  parcel  in  his 
hand,  and  he  laid  it  down  on  the  step  beside  him;  and 
he  seemed,  for  once  in  his  life,  to  be  in  a  mood  for  con 
versation. 

"  It's  hard  for  me  to  read  a  book,"  he  observed.  "  I  own 
to  it  —  it's  a  little  mite  hard.  H-hev  to  kind  of  spell  it 
out  in  places.  Hain't  had  much  time  for  readin'.  But  it's 
kind  of  pleasant  to  1'arn  what  other  folks  has  done  in  the 
world  by  pickin'  up  a  book.  T-takes  your  mind  off 
things  —  don't  it?" 

Wetherell  felt  like  saying  that  his  reading  had  not  been 
able  to  do  that  lately.  Then  he  made  the  plunge,  and 
shuddered  as  he  made  it. 


HOW  THE  REBELLION  WAS  QUENCHED       123 

"  Mr.  Bass  —  I  —  I  have  been  waiting  to  speak  to  you 
about  that  mortgage." 

"Er  —  yes,"  he  answered,  without  moving  his  head, 
"  er  —  about  the  mortgage." 

"Mr.  Worthington  told  me  that  you  had  bought  it." 

"Yes,  I  did  — yes,  I  did." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  will  have  to  foreclose,"  said  Wetherell ; 
"  I  cannot  reasonably  ask  you  to  defer  the  payments  any 
longer." 

"  If  I  foreclose  it,  what  will  you  do  ?  "  he  demanded 
abruptly. 

There  was  but  one  answer  —  Wetherell  would  have  to 
go  back  to  the  city  and  face  the  consequences.  He  had 
not  the  strength  to  earn  his  bread  on  a  farm. 

"  If  I'd  a  b'en  in  any  hurry  for  the  money  —  g-guess 
I'd  a  notified  you,"  said  Jethro. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  foreclose,  Mr.  Bass,"  Wetherell 
answered;  "  I  can't  hold  out  any  hopes  to  you  that  it  will 
ever  be  possible  for  me  to  pay  it  off.  It's  only  fair  to  tell 
you  that." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  what  seemed  a  suspicion  of  a  smile, 
"  I  don't  know  but  what  that's  about  as  honest  an  answer 
as  I  ever  got." 

"  Why  did  you  do  it  ? "  Wetherell  cried,  suddenly 
goaded  by  another  fear  ;  "  why  did  you  buy  that  mort 
gage  ?  " 

But  this  did  not  shake  his  composure. 

"  H-have  a  little  habit  of  collectin'  'em,"  he  answered, 
"  same  as  you  do  books.  G-guess  some  of  'em  hain't  as 
valuable." 

William  Wetherell  was  beginning  to  think  that  Jethro 
knew  something  also  of  such  refinements  of  cruelty  as 
were  practised  by  Caligula.  He  drew  forth  his  cowhide 
wallet  and  produced  from  it  a  folded  piece  of  newspaper 
which  must,  Wetherell  felt  sure,  contain  the  mortgage  in 
question. 

"  There's  one  power  I  always  wished  I  had,"  he  observed, 
"  the  power  to  make  folks  see  some  things  as  I  see  'em. 
I  was  acrost  the  Water  to-night,  on  my  hill  farm,  when  the 


124  CONISTON 

sun  set,  and  the  sky  up  thar  above  the  mountain  was  all 
golden  bars,  and  the  river  all  a-flamin'  purple,  just  as  if  it 
had  been  dyed  by  some  of  them  Greek  gods  you're  readin' 
about.  Now  if  I  could  put  them  things  on  paper,  I  wouldn't 
care  a  haycock  to  be  President.  No,  sir." 

The  storekeeper's  amazement  as  he  listened  to  this  speech 
may  be  imagined.  Was  this  Jethro  Bass  ?  If  so,  here  was 
a  side  of  him  the  existence  of  which  no  one  suspected. 
Wetherell  forgot  the  matter  in  hand. 

"  Why  don't  you  put  that  on  paper  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

Jethro  smiled,  and  made  a  deprecating  motion  with  his 
thumb. 

"  Sometimes  when  I  hain't  busy,  I  drop  into  the  state 
library  at  the  capital  and  enjoy  myself.  It's  like  goin'  to 
another  world  without  any  folks  to  bother  you.  Er  —  er 

—  there's  books  I'd  like  to  talk  to  you  about  —  sometime." 
"  But  I  thought  you  told  me  you  didn't  read  much,  Mr. 

Bass?" 

He  made  no  direct  reply,  but  unfolded  the  newspaper 
in  his  hand,  and  then  Wetherell  saw  that  it  was  only  a 
clipping. 

"  H-happened  to  run  across  this  in  a  newspaper  —  if 
this  hain't  this  county,  I  wahn't  born  and  raised  here.  If 
it  hain't  Coniston  Mountain  about  seven  o'clock  of  a  June 
evening,  I  never  saw  Coniston  Mountain.  Er  —  listen  to 
this." 

Whereupon  he  read,  with  a  feeling  which  Wetherell  had 
not  supposed  he  possessed,  an  extract :  and  as  the  store 
keeper  listened  his  blood  began  to  run  wildly.  At  length 
Jethro  put  down  the  paper  without  glancing  at  his  com 
panion. 

"  There's  somethin'  about  that  that  fetches  you  spinnin' 
through  the  air,"  he  said  slowly.  "  Sh-showed  it  to  Jim 
Willard,  editor  of  the  Newcastle  Guardian.  Er  —  what  do 
you  think  he  said  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Wetherell,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Willard  said,  '  Bass,  w-wish  you'd  find  me  that  man. 
I'll  give  him  five  dollars  every  week  for  a  letter  like  that 

—  er  —  five  dollars  a  week.'  " 


HOW  THE  KEBELLION  WAS  QUENCHED      125 

He  paused,  folded  up  the  paper  again  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  took  out  a  card  and  handed  it  to  Wetherell. 

James  G.  Willard,  Editor. 
Newcastle  Cruardian. 

"  That's  his  address,"  said  Jethro.  "  Er  —  guess  you'll 
know  what  to  do  with  it.  Er  —  five  dollars  a  week —  five 
dollars  a  week." 

"  How  did  you  know  I  wrote  this  article  ?  "  said  Wether- 
ell,  as  the  card  trembled  between  his  fingers. 

"  K-knowed  the  place  was  Coniston  seen  from  the  east, 
knowed  there  wahn't  any  one  in  Brampton  or  Harwich 
could  have  done  it  —  g-guessed  the  rest  —  guessed  the 
rest." 

Wetherell  could  only  stare  at  him  like  a  man  who,  with 
the  halter  about  his  neck,  has  been  suddenly  reprieved. 
But  Jethro  Bass  did  not_  appear  to  be  waiting  for  thanks. 
He  cleared  his  throat,  and  had  Wetherell  not  been  in  such 
a  condition  himself,  he  would  actually  have  suspected  him 
of  embarrassment. 

"  Er  —  Wetherell  ?  " 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  W-won't  say  nothin'  about  the  mortgage  —  p-pay  it 
when  you  can." 

This  roused  the  storekeeper  to  a  burst  of  protest,  but 
he  stemmed  it. 

"  Hain't  got  the  money,  have  you  ?  " 

"No  — but— " 

"If  I  needed  money,  d'ye  suppose  I'd  bought  the 
mortgage  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  still  bewildered  Wetherell,  "  of 
course  not."  There  he  stuck,  that  other  suspicion  of 
political  coercion  suddenly  rising  uppermost.  Could  this 
be  what  the  man  meant  ?  Wetherell  put  his  hand  to  his 
head,  but  he  did  not  dare  to  ask  the  question.  Then 
Jethro  Bass  fixed  his  eyes  upon  him. 

"Hain't  never  mixed  any  in  politics — hev  you— - 
n-never  mixed  any  ?  " 


126  CONISTON 

Wetherell's  heart  sank. 

"  No,"  he  answered. 

"  D-don't —  take  my  advice  —  d-don't." 

"  What  !  "  cried  the  storekeeper,  so  loudly  that  he 
frightened  himself. 

"  D-don't,"  repeated  Jethro,  imperturbably. 

There  was  a  short  silence,  the  storekeeper  being  unable 
to  speak.  Coniston  Water,  at  the  foot  of  the  garden, 
sang  the  same  song,  but  it  seemed  to  Wetherell  to  have 
changed  its  note  from  sorrow  to  joy. 

"  H-hear  things,  don't  you  —  hear  things  in  the 
store  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  Don't  hear  'em.  Keep  out  of  politics,  Will,  s-stick  to 
storekeepin'  and  —  and  literature." 

Jethro  got  to  his  feet  and  turned  his  back  on  the  store 
keeper  and  picked  up  the  parcel  he  had  brought. 

"  C-Cynthy  well  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"I  —  I'll  call  her,"  said  Wetherell,  huskily.  "She  — 
she  was  down  by  the  brook  when  you  came." 

But  Jethro  Bass  did  not  wait.  He  took  his  parcel 
arid  strode  down  to  Coniston  Water,  and  there  he  found 
Cynthia  seated  on  a  rock  with  her  toes  in  a  pool. 

"  How  be  you,  Cynthy  ?  "  said  he,  looking  down  at  her. 

"  I'm  well,  Uncle  Jethro,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  R-remembered  what  I  told  you  to  call  me,  hev 
you,"  said  Jethro,  plainly  pleased.  "  Th-that's  right. 
Cynthy?" 

Cynthia  looked  up  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  S-said  you  liked  books  —  didn't  you  ?  S-said  you 
liked  books?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  she  replied  simply,  "  very  much." 

He  undid  the  wrapping  of  the  parcel,  and  there  lay 
disclosed  a  book  with  a  very  gorgeous  cover.  He  thrust 
it  into  the  child's  lap. 

"  It's  '  Robinson  Crusoe  '  !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  gave  a 
little  shiver  of  delight  that  made  ripples  in  the  pool. 
Then  she  opened  it  —  not  without  awe,  for  William 
Wetherell's  books  were  not  clothed  in  this  magnificent 


HOW  THE  REBELLION  WAS  QUENCHED      127 

manner.  "  It's  full  of  pictures,"  cried  Cynthia.  "  See, 
there  he  is  making  a  ship  !  " 

"  Y-you  read  it,  Cynthy  ? "  asked  Jethro,  a  little 
anxiously. 

No,  Cynthia  hadn't. 

"  L-like  it,  Cynthy  — 1-like  it  ?  "  said  he,  not  quite  so 
anxiously. 

Cynthia  looked  up  at  him  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"F-f etched  it  up  from  the  capital  for  you,  Cynthy  — 
for  you." 

"  For  me  !  " 

A  strange  thrill  ran  through  Jethro  Bass  as  he  gazed 
upon  the  wonder  and  delight  in  the  face  of  the  child. 

"  F-f  etched  it  for  you,  Cynthy." 

For  a  moment  Cynthia  sat  very  still,  and  then  she 
slowly  closed  the  book  and  stared  at  the  cover  again, 
Jethro  looking  down  at  her  the  while.  To  tell  the  truth, 
she  found  it  difficult  to  express  the  emotions  which  the 
event  had  summoned  up. 

"  Thank  you  —  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said. 

Jethro,  however,  understood.  He  had,  indeed,  never 
failed  to  understand  her  from  the -beginning.  He  parted 
his  coat  tails  and  sat  down  on  the  rock  beside  her,  and 
very  gently  opened  the  book  again,  to  the  first  chapter. 

"  G-goin'  to  read  it,  Cynthy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  and  trembled  again. 

"  Er  —  read  it  to  me  ?  " 

So  Cynthia  read  "  Robinson  Crusoe  "  to  him  while  the 
summer  afternoon  wore  away,  and  the  shadows  across  the 
pool  grew  longer  and  longer. 


CHAPTER   XI 

MB.    WORTHINGTON   BECOMES   A  REFORMER 

THUS  William  Wetherell  became  established  in  Conis- 
ton,  and  was  started  at  last  —  poor  man  —  upon  a  life 
that  was  fairly  tranquil.  Lem  Hallowell  had  once  covered 
him  with  blushes  by  unfolding  a  newspaper  in  the  store 
and  reading  an  editorial  beginning  :  "  VV^e  publish  to 
day  a  new  and  attractive  feature  of  the  Guardian,  a 
weekly  contribution  from  a  correspondent  whose  modesty 
is  to  be  compared  only  with  his  genius  as  a  writer.  We 
are  confident  that  the  readers  of  our  paper  will  appreciate 
the  letter  in  another  column  signed  'W.W.''  And 
from  that  day  William  was  accorded  much  of  the  def 
erence  due  to  a  litterateur  which  the  fates  had  hitherto 
denied  him.  Indeed,  during  the  six  years  which  we  are 
about  to  skip  over  so  lightly,  he  became  a  marked  man  in 
Coniston,  and  it  was  voted  in  town  meeting  that  he  be 
intrusted  with  that  most  important  of  literary  labors,  the 
Town  History  of  Coniston. 

During  this  period,  too,  there  sprang  up  the  strangest 
of  intimacies  between  him  and  Jethro  Bass.  Surely  no 
more  dissimilar  men  than  these  have  ever  been  friends, 
and  that  the  friendship  was  sometimes  misjudged  was  one 
of  the  clouds  on  William  Wetherell's  horizon.  As  the 
years  went  on  he  was  still  unable  to  pay  off  the  mort 
gage  ;  and  sometimes,  indeed,  he  could  not  even  meet  the 
interest,  in  spite  of  the  princely  sum  he  received  from 
Mr.Willard  of  the  Guardian.  This  was  one  of  the  clouds 
on  Jethro's  horizon,  too,  if  men  had  but  known  it,  and 
he  took  such  moneys  as  Wetherell  insisted  upon  giving 
him  grudgingly  enough.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  he 

128 


ME.  WORTHINGTON  BECOMES  A  REFORMER    129 

refrained  from  making  use  of  Mr.  Wetherell  politically, 
although  no  poorer  vessel  for  political  purposes  was  ever 
constructed.  It  is  quite  as  needless  to  say,  perhaps,  that 
Chester  Perkins  never  got  to  be  Chairman  of  the  Board  of 
Selectmen. 

After  Aunt  Listy  died,  Jethro  was  more  than  ever  to 
be  found,  when  in  Coniston,  in  the  garden  or  the  kitchen 
behind  the  store.  Yes,  Aunt  Listy  is  dead.  She  has 
flitted  through  these  pages  as  she  flitted  through  life 
itself,  arrayed  by  Jethro  like  the  rainbow,  and  quite  as 
shadowy  and  unreal.  There  is  no  politician  of  a  certain 
age  in  the  state  who  does  not  remember  her  walking,  clad 
in  dragon-fly  colors,  through  the  streets  of  the  capital 
on  Jethro's  arm,  or  descending  the  stairs  of  the  Pelican 
House  to  supper.  None  of  Jethro's  detractors  may  say 
that  he  ever  failed  in  kindness  to  her,  and  he  loved  her  as 
much  as  was  in  his  heart  to  love  any  woman  after  Cynthia 
Ware.  As  for  Aunt  Listy,  she  never  seemed  to  feel  any 
resentment  against  the  child  Jethro  brought  so  frequently 
to  Thousand  Acre  Hill.  Poor  Aunt  Listy  !  some  people 
used  to  wonder  whether  she  ever  felt  any  emotion  at  all. 
But  I  believe  that  she  did,  in  her  own  way; 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby  came  over 
from  Clovelly,  to  request  the  place  of  superintendent  of 
the  funeral,  a  position  which  had  already  been  filled. 
A  special  office,  too,  was  created  on  this  occasion  for  an  old 
supporter  of  Jethro's,  Senator  Peleg  Hartington  of  Bramp- 
ton.  He  was  made  chairman  of  the  bearers,  of  whom 
Ephraim  Prescott  was  one. 

After  this,  as  we  have  said,  Jethro  was  more  than  ever 
at  the  store — or  rather  in  that  domestic  domain  behind  it 
which  Wetherell  and  Cynthia  shared  with  Miss  Millicent 
Skinner.  Moses  Hatch  was  wont  to  ask  Cynthia  how  her 
daddies  were.  It  was  he  who  used  to  clear  out  the  road 
to  the  little  schoolhouse  among  the  birches  when  the  snow 
almost  buried  the  little  village,  and  on  sparkling  mornings 
after  the  storms  his  oxen  would  stop  to  breathe  in  front  of 
the  store,  a  cluster  of  laughing  children  clinging  to  the 
snow-plough  and  tumbling  over  good-natured  Moses  in 


"Through  the  streets  of  the  capital  on  Jethro's  arm. 


130 


ME.  WORTHINGTON  BECOMES  A  REFORMER    131 

their  frolics.  Cynthia  became  a  country  girl,  and  grew 
long  and  lithe  of  limb,  and  weather-burnt,  and  acquired 
an  endurance  that  spoke  wonders  for  the  life-giving  air  of 
Coniston.  But  she  was  a  serious  child,  and  Wetherell  and 
Jethro  sometimes  wondered  whether  she  was  ever  a  child 
at  all.  When  Eben  Hatch  fell  from  the  lumber  pile  on 
the  ice,  it  was  she  who  bound  the  cut  in  his  head ;  and 
when  Tom  Richardson  unexpectedly  embraced  the  school- 
house  stove,  Cynthia,  not  Miss  Rebecca  Northcutt,  took 
charge  of  the  situation. 

It  was  perhaps  inevitable,  with  such  a  helpless  father, 
that  the  girl  should  grow  up  with  a  sense  of  responsibility, 
being  what  she  was.  Did  William  Wetherell  go  to  Bramp- 
tou,  Cynthia  examined  his  apparel,  and  he  was  marched 
shamefacedly  back  to  his  room  to  change ;  did  he  read  too 
late  at  night,  some  unseen  messenger  summoned  her  out 
of  her  sleep,  and  he  was  packed  off  to  bed.  Miss  Millicent 
Skinner,  too,  was  in  a  like  mysterious  way  compelled  to 
abdicate  her  high  place  in  favor  of  Cynthia,  and  Wetherell 
was  utterly  unable  to  explain  how  this  miracle  was  accom 
plished.  Not  only  did  Millicent  learn  to  cook,  but  Cyn 
thia,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  had  taught  her.  Some  wit 
once  suggested  that  the  national  arms  of  the  United  States 
should  contain  the  emblem  of  crossed  frying-pans,  and 
Millicent  was  in  this  respect  a  true  American.  When 
Wetherell  began  to  suffer  from  her  pies  and  doughnuts, 
the  revolution  took  place  —  without  stampeding,  or  re 
criminations,  or  trouble  of  any  kind.  One  evening  he 
discovered  Cynthia,  decked  in  an  apron,  bending  over  the 
stove,  and  Millicent  looking  on  with  an  expression  that 
was  (for  Millicent)  benign. 

This  was  to  some  extent  explained,  a  few  days  later, 
when  Wetherell  found  himself  gazing  across  the  counter 
at  the  motherly  figure  of  Mrs.  Moses  Hatch,  who  held  the 
well-deserved  honor  of  being  the  best  cook  in  Coniston. 

*'  Hain't  had  so  much  stomach  trouble  lately,  Will  ?  "  she 
remarked. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  surprised ;  "  Cynthia  is  learning  to 
cook." 


^&U~»J 

"  Cynthia  became  a  country  girl." 


132 


MR.  WORTHING?  ON  BECOMES  A  REFORMER    133 

"Guess  she  is,"  said  Mrs.  Moses.  "  That  gal  is  worth 
any  seven  grown-up  women  in  town.  And  she  was  four 
nights  settin'  in  my  kitchen  before  I  knowed  what  she  was 
up  to." 

"  So  you  taught  her,  Amanda?  " 

"  I  taught  her  some.  She  callated  that  Milly  was  killin' 
you,  and  I  guess  she  was." 

During  her  school  days,  Jethro  used  frequently  to  find 
himself  in  front  of  the  schoolhouse  when  the  children 
came  trooping  out  —  quite  by  accident,  of  course.  Win 
ter  or  summer,  when  he  went  away  on  his  periodical  trips, 
he  never  came  back  without  a  little  remembrance  in  his 
carpet  bag,  usually  a  book,  on  the  subject  of  which  he 
had  spent  hours  in  conference  with  the  librarian  at  the 
state  library  at  the  capital.  But  in  June  of  the  year 
when  Cynthia  was  fifteen,  Jethro  yielded  to  that  passion 
which  was  one  of  the  man's  strangest  characteristics,  and 
appeared  one  evening  in  the  garden  behind  the  store  with 
a  bundle  which  certainly  did  not  contain  a  book.  With 
all  the  gravity  of  a  ceremony  he  took  off  the  paper,  and 
held  up  in  relief  against  the  astonished  Cynthia  a  length 
of  cardinal  cloth.  William  Wetherell,  who  was  looking 
out  of  the  window,  drew  his  breath,  and  even  Jethro  drew 
back  with  an  exclamation  at  the  change  wrought  in  her. 
But  Cynthia  snatched  the  roll  from  his  hand  and  wound 
it  up  with  a  feminine  deftness. 

"  Wh- what's  the  matter,  Cynthy?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can't  wear  that,  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said. 

"  C-can't  wear  it !     Why  not?  " 

Cynthia  sat  down  on  the  grassy  mound  under  the  apple 
tree  and  clasped  her  hands  across  her  knees.  She  looked 
up  at  him  and  shook  her  head. 

"Don't  you  see  that  I  couldn't  wear  it,  Uncle  Jethro?  " 

"  Why  not?  "  he  demanded.  "  Ch-change  it  if  you've  a 
mind  to  hev  green." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  smiled  at  him  a  little  sadly. 

"T-took  me  a  full  hour  to  choose  that,  Cynthy,"  said  he. 
"H-had  to  go  to  Boston,  so  I  got  it  there." 

He  was,  indeed,  grievously  disappointed  at  this  recep- 


134  CONISTON 

tion  of  his  gift,  and  he  stood  eying  the  cardinal  cloth 
very  mournfully  as  it  lay  on  the  paper.  Cynthia,  remorse 
ful,  reached  up  and  seized  his  hand. 

"Sit  down  here,  Uncle  Jethro."  He  sat  down  on  the 
mound  beside  her,  very  much  perplexed.  She  still  held 
his  hand  in  hers.  "  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said  slowly,  "  you 
mustn't  think  I'm  not  grateful." 

"  N-no,"  he  answered ;  "  I  don't  think  that,  Cynthy. 
I  know  you  be." 

"  I  am  grateful  —  I'm  very  grateful  for  everything  you 
give  me,  although  I  should  love  you  just  as  much  if  you 
didn't  give  me  anything." 

She  was  striving  very  hard  not  to  offend  him,  for  in 
some  ways  he  was  as  sensitive  as  Wetherell  himself.  Even 
Coniston  folk  had  laughed  at  the  idiosyncrasy  which 
Jethro  had  of  dressing  his  wife  in  brilliant  colors,  and 
the  girl  knew  this. 

"  G-got  it  for  you  to  wear  to  Brampton  on  the  Fourth 
of  July,  Cynthy,"  he  said. 

'  Uncle  Jethro,  I  couldn't  wear  that  to  Brampton  I " 

'  You'd  look  like  a  queen,"  said  he. 

'  But  I'm  not  a  queen,"  objected  Cynthia. 

'  Rather  hev  somethin'  else  ?  " 

'  Yes,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  suddenly  with  the 
gleam  of  laughter  in  her  eyes,  although  she  was  on  the 
verge  of  tears. 

"  Wh-what  ?  "  Jethro  demanded. 

"  Well,"  said  Cynthia,  demurely  gazing  down  at  her 
ankles,  "shoes  and  stockings."  The  barefooted  days  had 
long  gone  by. 

Jethro  laughed.  Perhaps  some  inkling  of  her  reasons 
came  to  him,  for  he  had  a  strange  and  intuitive  under 
standing  of  her.  At  any  rate,  he  accepted  her  decision 
with  a  meekness  which  would  have  astonished  many  peo 
ple  who  knew  only  that  side  of  him  which  he  showed  to 
the  world.  Gently  she  released  her  hand,  and  folded  up 
the  bundle  again  and  gave  it  to  him. 

"  B-better  keep  it  —  hadn't  you?" 

"  No,  you  keep  it.  And  I  will  wear  it  for  you  when  I 
am  rich,  Uncle  Jethro." 


"  Tom  Richardson  unexpectedly  embraced  the  schoolhouse  stove 


135 


136  CONISTON 

Jethro  did  keep  it,  and  in  due  time  the  cardinal  cloth 
had  its  uses.  But  Cynthia  did  not  wear  it  on  the  Fourth 
of  July. 

That  was  a  great  day  for  Bramptori,  being  not 
only  the  nation's  birthday,  but  the  hundredth  year 
since  the  adventurous  little  band  of  settlers  from 
Connecticut  had  first  gazed  upon  Coniston  Water  at 
that  place.  Early  in  the  morning  wagon  loads  began 
to  pour  into  Brampton  Street  from  Harwich,  from 
Coniston,  from  Taiieton  Four  Corners,  and  even  from 
distant  Clovelly,  and  Brampton  was  banner-hung  for  the 
occasion  —  flags  across  the  stores,  across  the  dwellings, 
and  draped  along  the  whole  breadth  of  the  meeting-house ; 
but  for  sheer  splendor  the  newly  built  mansion  of  Isaac  D. 
Worthington  outshone  them  all.  Although  its  owner  was 
a  professed  believer  in  republican  simplicity,  no  such  edi 
fice  ornamented  any  town  to  the  west  of  the  state  capital. 
Small  wonder  that  the  way  in  front  of  it  was  blocked  by 
a  crowd  lost  in  admiration  of  its  Gothic  proportions !  It 
stands  to-day  one  of  many  monuments  to  its  builder,  with 
its  windows  of  one  pane  (unheard-of  magnificence),  its 
tower  of  stone,  its  porch  with  pointed  arches  and  scroll 
work.  No  fence  divides  its  grounds  from  the  public  walk, 
and  on  the  smooth-shaven  lawn  between  the  ornamental 
flower  beds  and  the  walk  stand  two  stern  mastiffs  of  iron, 
emblematic  of  the  solidity  and  power  of  their  owner.  It 
was  as  much  to  see  this  house  as  to  hear  the  oratory  that 
the  countryside  flocked  to  Brampton  that  day. 

All  the  day  before  Cynthia  and  Milly,  and  many  an 
other  housewife,  had  been  making  wonderful  things  for 
the  dinners  they  were  to  bring,  and  stowing  them  in  the 
great  basket  ready  for  the  early  morning  start.  At  six 
o'clock  Jethro's  three-seated  farm  wagon  was  in  front  of 
the  store.  Cousin  Ephraim  Prescott,  in  a  blue  suit  and 
an  army  felt  hat  with  a  cord,  got  up  behind,  a  little  stiffly 
by  reason  of  that  Wilderness  bullet ;  and  there  were  also 
William  Wetherell  and  Lem  Hallowell,  his  honest  face 
shining,  and  Sue,  his  wife,  and  young  Sue  and  Jock  and 
Lilian,  all  a-quiver  with  excitement  in  their  Sunday  best. 


ME.  WORTHINGTON  BECOMES  A  REFORMER    137 

And  as  they  drove  away  there  trotted  up  behind  them 
Moses  and  Amandy  Hatch,  with  their  farm  team,  and  all 
the  little  Hatches,  —  Eben  and  George  and  Judy  and  Liza. 
As  they  jogged  along  they  drank  in  the  fragrance  of  the 
dew-washed  meadows  and  the  pines,  and  a  great  blue 
heron  stood  knee-deep  on  the  far  side  of  Deacon  Lysan- 
der's  old  mill-pond,  watching  them  philosophically  as  they 
passed. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  they  got  into  the  press  of 
Brampton  Street,  and  there  was  a  hush  as  they  made  their 
way  slowly  through  the  throng,  and  many  a  stare  at  the 
curious  figure  in  the  old-fashioned  blue  swallowtail  and 
brass  buttons  and  tall  hat,  driving  the  farm  wagon.  Hus 
bands  pointed  him  out  to  their  wives,  young  men  to  sisters 
and  sweethearts,  some  openly,  some  discreetly.  "  There 
goes  Jethro  Bass,"  and  some  were  bold  enough  to  say, 
"  Howdy,  Jethro  ?  "  Jake  Wheeler  was  to  be  observed 
in  the  crowd  ahead  of  them,  hurried  for  once  out  of  his 
Jethro  step,  actually  running  toward  the  tavern,  lest  such 
a  one  arrive  unheralded.  Commotion  is  perceived  on  the 
tavern  porch,  —  Mr.  Sherman,  the  proprietor,  bustling  out, 
Jake  Wheeler  beside  him ;  a  chorus  of  "  How  be  you,  Jeth- 
ros?"  from  the  more  courageous  there,  —  but  the  farm  team 
jogs  on,  leaving  a  discomfited  gathering,  into  the  side 
street,  up  an  alley,  and  into  the  cool,  ammonia-reeking 
sheds  of  lank  Jim  Sanborn's  livery  stable.  No  obsequi 
ousness  from  lank  Jim,  who  has  the  traces  slipped  and 
the  reins  festooned  from  the  bits  almost  before  Jethro 
has  lifted  Cynthia  to  the  floor.  Jethro,  walking  between 
Cynthia  and  her  father,  led  the  way,  Ephraim,  Lem,  and 
Sue  Hallowell  following,  the  children,  in  unwonted  shoes 
and  stockings,  bringing  up  the  rear.  The  people  parted, 
and  presently  they  found  themselves  opposite  the  new- 
scrolled  band  stand  among  the  trees,  where  the  Harwich 
band  in  glittering  gold  and  red  had  just  been  installed. 
The  leader,  catching  sight  of  Jethro's  party,  and  of 
Ephraim's  corded  army  hat,  made  a  bow,  waved  his  baton, 
and  they  struck  up  "  Marching  through  Georgia."  It  was, 
of  course,  not  dignified  to  cheer,  but  I  think  that  the 


138  CONISTON 

blood  of  every  mail  and  woman  and  child  ran  faster  with 
the  music,  and  so  many  of  them  looked  at  Cousin  Ephraim 
that  he  slipped  away  behind  the  line  of  wagons.  So  the 
day  began. 

"  Jest  to  think  of  bein'  that  rich,  Will  !  "  exclaimed 
Amanda  Hatch  to  the  storekeeper,  as  they  stood  in  the 
little  group  which  had  gathered  in  front  of  the  first  citi 
zen's  new  mansion.  "I  own  it  scares  me.  Think  how 
much  that  house  must  hev  cost,  and  even  them  dogs," 
said  Amanda,  staring  at  the  mastiffs  with  awe.  "  They 
tell  me  he  has  a  grand  piano  from  New  York,  and 
guests  from  Boston  —  railroad  presidents.  I  call  Isaac 
Worthington  to  mind  when  he  wahn't  but  a  slip  of  a  boy 
with  a  cough,  runnin'  after  Cynthy  Ware."  She  glanced 
down  at  Cynthia  with  something  of  compassion.  "  Just 
to  think,  child,  he  might  have  be'n  your  father  !  " 

"  I'm  glad  he  isn't,"  said  Cynthia,  hotly. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  replied  the  good-natured  and 
well-intentioned  Amanda,  "I'd  sooner  have  your  father 
than  Isaac  Worthington.  But  I  was  only  thinkin'  how  nice 
it  would  be  to  be  rich." 

Just  then  one  of  the  glass-panelled  doors  of  this  house 
opened,  and  a  good-looking  lad  of  seventeen  came  out. 

"  That's  Bob  Worthington,"  said  Amanda,  determined 
that  they  should  miss  nothing.  "  My  !  it  wahn't  but  the 
other  day  when  he  put  on  long  pants.  It  won't  be  a 
great  while  before  he'll  go  into  the  mills  and  git  all  that 
money.  Guess  he'll  marry  some  city  person.  He'd  ought 
to  take  you,  Cynthy." 

"  I  don't  want  him,"  said  Cynthia,  the  color  flaming 
into  her  cheeks.  And  she  went  off  across  the  green  in 
search  of  Jethro. 

There  was  a  laugh  from  the  honest  country  folk  who 
had  listened.  Bob  Worthington  came  to  the  edge  of  the 
porch  and  stood  there,  frankly  scanning  the  crowd,  with 
an  entire  lack  of  self-consciousness.  Some  of  them  shifted 
nervously,  with  the  New  Englander's  dislike  of  being 
caught  in  the  act  of  sight-seeing. 

"  What   in  the  world   is   he  starin'  at  me  for  ?  "  said 


MR.  WORTHINGTON  BECOMES  A  REFORMER    139 

Amanda,  backing  behind  the  bulkier  form  of  her  husband. 
"As  I  live,  I  believe  he's  comin'  here." 

Young  Mr.  Worthington  was,  indeed,  descending  the 
steps  and  walking  across  the  lawn  toward  them,  nodding 
and  smiling  to  acquaintances  as  he  passed.  To  Wether- 
ell's  astonishment  he  made  directly  for  the  place  where  he 
was  standing  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Wetherell  ?  "  he  said.  "  Perhaps 
you  don't  remember  me,  —  Bob  Worthington." 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  should  have  known  you,"  answered 
the  storekeeper.  They  were  all  absurdly  silent,  thinking 
of  nothing  to  say  and  admiring  the  boy  because  he  was  at 
ease. 

"  I  hope  you  have  a  good  seat  at  the  exercises,"  he  said, 
pressing  Wetherell's  hand  again,  and  before  he  could 
thank  him,  Bob  was  off  in  the  direction  of  the  band  stand. 

"  One  thing,"  remarked  Amanda,  "  he  ain't  much  like 
his  dad.  You'd  never  catch  Isaac  Worthington  bein' 
that  common." 

Just  then  there  came  another  interruption  for  William 
Wetherell,  who  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  a  voice  in  his 
ear  —  a  nasal  voice  that  awoke  unpleasant  recollections. 
He  turned  to  confront,  within  the  distance  of  eight  inches, 
the  face  of  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby  of  Clovelly  screwed  up  into 
a  greeting.  The  storekeeper  had  met  Mr.  Bixby  several 
times  since  that  first  memorable  meeting,  and  on  each 
occasion,  as  now,  his  hand  had  made  an  involuntary 
movement  to  his  watch  pocket. 

"  Hain't  seed  you  for  some  time,  Will,"  remarked  Mr. 
Bixby;  "goin'  over  to  the  exercises?  We'll  move  along 
that  way,"  and  he  thrust  his  hand  under  Mr.  Wetherell's 
elbow.  "Whar's  Jethro  ?  " 

"He's  here  somewhere,"  answered  the  storekeeper, 
helplessly,  moving  along  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  Keepin'  out  of  sight,  you  understand,"  said  Bijah,  witK 
a  knowing  wink,  as  much  as  to  say  that  Mr.  Wetherell 
was  by  this  time  a  past  master  in  Jethro  tactics.  Mr. 
Bixby  could  never  disabuse  his  mind  of  a  certain  inter 
pretation  which  he  put  on  the  storekeeper's  intimacy  with 


140  CONISTON 

Jethro.  "You  done  well  to  git  in  with  him,  Will. 
Didn't  think  you  had  it  in  you  when  I  first  looked  you 
over." 

Mr.  Wetherell  wished  to  make  an  indignant  denial,  but 
he  didn't  know  exactly  how  to  begin. 

"  Smartest  man  in  the  United  States  of  America  —  guess 
you  know  that,"  Mr.  Bixby  continued  amiably.  "  They 
can't  git  at  him  unless  he  wants  'em  to.  There's  a  rail 
road  president  at  Isaac  Worthington's  who'd  like  to  git  at 
him  to-day,  —  guess  you  know  that,  —  Steve  Merrill." 

Mr.  Wetherell  didn't  know,  but  he  was  given  no  time 
to  say  so. 

"  Steve  Merrill,  of  the  Grand  Gulf  and  Northern.  He 
hain't  here  to  see  Worthington  ;  he's  here  to  see  Jethro, 
when  Jethro's  a  mind  to.  Guess  you  understand." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  answered  Wetherell,  shortly. 
Mr.  Bixby  gave  him  a  look  of  infinite  admiration,  as 
though  he  could  not  have  pursued  any  more  admirable  line. 

"  I  know  Steve  Merrill  better'n  I  know  you,"  said  Mr. 
Bixby,  "  and  he  knows  me.  Whenever  he  sees  me  at  the 
state  capital  he  says,  '  How  be  you,  Bije  ?  '  just  as  natural 
as  if  I  WAS  a  railroad  president,  and  slaps  me  on  the  back. 
When  be  you  goin'  to  the  capital,  Will?  You'd  ought 
to  come  down  and  be  thar  with  the  boys  on  this  Truro 
Bill.  You  could  reach  some  on  'em  the  rest  of  us  couldn't 
git  at." 

William  Wetherell  avoided  a  reply  to  this  very  pointed 
inquiry  by  escaping  into  the  meeting-house,  where  he 
found  Jethro  and  Cynthia  and  Ephraim  already  seated 
halfway  up  the  aisle. 

On  the  platform,  behind  a  bank  of  flowers,  are  the  velvet- 
covered  chairs  which  contain  the  dignitaries  of  the 
occasion.  The  chief  of  these  is,  of  course,  Mr.  Isaac  Worth 
ington,  the  one  with  the  hawklike  look,  sitting  next  to 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Sweet,  who  is  rather  pudgy  by  contrast.. 
On  the  other  side  of  Mr.  Sweet,  next  to  the  parlor  organ 
and  the  quartette,  is  the  genial  little  railroad  president 
Mr.  Merrill,  batting  the  flies  which  assail  the  unprotected 
crown  of  his  head,  and  smiling  benignly  on  the  audience. 


MR.  WORTHINGTON  BECOMES  A  REFORMER    141 

Suddenly  his  eye  becomes  fixed,  and  he  waves  a  fat  hand 
vigorously  at  Jethro,  who  answers  the  salute  with  a  nod 
of  unwonted  cordiality  for  him.  Then  comes  a  hush, 
and  the  exercises  begin. 

There  is  a  prayer,  of  course,  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sweet, 
and  a  rendering  of  "  My  Country "  and  "  I  would  not 
Change  my  Lot,"  and  other  choice  selections  by  the  quar 
tette  ;  and  an  original  poem  recited  with  much  feeling  by 
a  lady  admirer  of  Miss  Lucretia  Penniman,  and  the  "Hymn 
to  Coniston"  declaimed  by  Mr.  Gamaliel  Ives,  president 
of  the  Brampton  Literary  Club.  But  the  crowning  event 
is,  of  course,  the  oration  by  Mr.  Isaac  D.  Worthington,  the 
first  citizen,  who  is  introduced  under  that  title  by  the 
chairman  of  the  day ;  and  as  the  benefactor  of  Brampton, 
who  has  bestowed  upon  the  town  the  magnificent  gift 
which  was  dedicated  such  a  short  time  ago,  the  Worthing 
ton  Free  Library. 

Mr.  Isaac  D.  Worthington  stood  erect  beside  the  table, 
his  hand  thrust  into  the  opening  of  his  coat,  and  spoke  at 
the  rate  of  one  hundred  and  eight  words  a  minute,  for 
exactly  one  hour.  He  sketched  with  much  skill  the  creed 
of  the  men  who  had  fought  their  way  through  the  forests 
to  build  their  homes  by  Coniston  Water,  who  had  left 
their  clearings  to  risk  their  lives  behind  Stark  and  Ethan 
Allen  for  that  creed ;  he  paid  a  graceful  tribute  to  the 
veterans  of  the  Civil  War,  scattered  among  his  hearers  —  a 
tribute,  by  the  way,  which  for  some  reason  made  Ephraim 
very  indignant.  Mr.  Worthington  went  on  to  outline  the 
duty  of  citizens  of  the  present  day,  as  he  conceived  it,  and 
in  this  connection  referred,  with  becoming  modesty,  to  the 
Worthington  Free  Library.  He  had  made  his  money  in 
Brampton,  and  it  was  but  right  that  he  should  spend  it  for 
the  benefit  of  the  people  of  Brampton.  The  library,  con 
tinued  Mr.  Worthington  when  the  applause  was  over,  had 
been  the  dream  of  a  certain  delicate  youth  who  had  come, 
many  years  ago,  to  Brampton  for  his  health.  (It  is  a 
curious  fact,  by  the  way,  that  Mr.  Worthington  seldom 
recalled  the  delicate  youth  now,  except  upon  public 
occasions.) 


'At  the  rate  of  one  hundred  and  eight  words  a  minute." 


142 


MR.  WORTHINGTON  BECOMES  A  REFORMER    143 

Yes,  the  dream  of  that  youth  had  been  to  benefit  in 
some  way  that  community  in  which  circumstances  had 
decreed  that  he  should  live,  and  in  this  connection  it  might 
not  be  out  of  place  to  mention  a  bill  then  before  the  Legisla 
ture  of  the  state,  now  in  session.  If  the  bill  became  a  law, 
the  greatest  modern  factor  of  prosperity,  the  railroad,  would 
come  to  Brampton.  The  speaker  was  interrupted  here  by 
more  applause.  Mr.  Worthington  did  not  deem  it  dignified 
or  necessary  to  state  that  the  railroad  to  which  he  referred 
was  the  Truro  Railroad ;  and  that  he,  as  the  largest  stock 
holder,  might  indirectly  share  that  prosperity  with  Bramp 
ton.  That  would  be  wandering  too  far  from  his  subject, 
which,  it  will  be  recalled,  was  civic  duties.  He  took  a  glass 
of  water,  and  went  on  to  declare  that  he  feared  —  sadly 
feared — that  the  ballot  was  not  held  as  sacred  as  it  had  once 
been.  He  asked  the  people  of  Brampton,  and  of  the  state, 
to  stop  and  consider  who  in  these  days  made  the  laws  and 
granted  the  franchises.  Whereupon  he  shook  his  head 
very  slowly  and  sadly,  as  much  as  to  imply  that,  if  the  Truro 
Bill  did  not  pass,  the  corruption  of  the  ballot  was  to  blame. 
No,  Mr.  Worthington  could  think  of  no  better  subject  on 
this  Birthday  of  Independence  than  a  recapitulation  of 
the  creed  of  our  forefathers,  from  which  we  had  so  far 
wandered. 

In  short,  the  first  citizen,  as  became  him,  had  delivered 
the  first  reform  speech  ever  heard  in  Brampton,  and  the 
sensation  which  it  created  was  quite  commensurate  to  the 
occasion.  The  presence  in  the  audience  of  Jethro  Bass,  at 
whom  many  believed  the  remarks  to  have  been  aimed, 
added  no  little  poignancy  to  that  sensation,  although  Jethro 
gave  no  outward  signs  of  the  terror  and  remorse  by  which  he 
must  have  been  struck  while  listening  to  Mr.  Worthington's 
ruminations  of  the  corruption  of  the  ballot.  Apparently 
unconscious  of  the  eyes  upon  him,  he  walked  out  of  the 
meeting-house  with  Cynthia  by  his  side,  and  they  stood 
waiting  for  Wetherell  and  Ephraim  under  the  maple  tree 
there. 

The  beribboned  members  of  the  Independence  Day  com 
mittee  were  now  on  the  steps,  and  behind  them  came  Isaac 


144  CONISTON 

Worthington  and  Mr.  Merrill.  The  people,  scenting  a 
dramatic  situation,  lingered.  Would  the  mill  owner  speak 
to  the  boss  r*  The  mill  owner,  with  a  glance  at  the  boss,  did 
nothing  of  the  kind,  but  immediately  began  to  talk  rapidly 
to  Mr.  Merrill.  That  gentleman,  however,  would  not  be 
talked  to,  but  came  running  over  to  Jethro  and  seized  his 
hand,  leaving  Mr.  Worthington  to  walk  on  by  himself. 

"  Jethro,"  cried  the  little  railroad  president,  "  upon  my 
word.  Well,  well.  And  Miss  Jethro,"  he  took  off  his 
hat  to  Cynthia,  "  well,  well.  Didn't  know  you  had  a  girl, 
Jethro." 

"  W-wish  she  was  mine,  Steve,"  said  Jethro.  "  She's 
a  good  deal  to  me  as  it  is.  Hain't  you,  Cynthy  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Merrill,  staring  at  her,  "  you'll 
have  to  look  out  for  her  some  day  —  keep  the  boys  away 
from  her  —  eh  ?  Upon  my  word  !  Well,  Jethro,"  said 
he,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  are  you  goin'  to  reform  ? 
I'll  bet  you've  got  an  annual  over  my  road  in  your  pocket 
right  now." 

"Enjoy  the  speech-makin',  Steve?"  inquired  Mr.  Bass, 
solemnly. 

Mr.  Merrill  winked  at  Jethro,  and  laughed  heartily. 

"  Keep  the  boys  away  from  her,  Jethro,"  he  repeated, 
laying  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  lad  who  stood 
beside  him.  "  It's  a  good  thing  Bob's  going  off  to 
Harvard  this  fall.  Seems  to  me  I  heard  about  some  cut 
ting  up  at  Andover —  eh,  Bob  ?  " 

Bob  grinned,  showing  a  line  of  very  white  teeth. 

Mr.  Merrill  took  Jethro  by  the  arm  and  led  him  off  a 
little  distance,  having  a  message  of  some  importance  to 
give  him,  the  purport  of  which  will  appear  later.  And 
Cynthia  and  Bob  were  left  face  to  face.  Of  course  Bob 
could  have  gone  on,  if  he  had  wished  it. 

"  Don't  remember  me,  d;   you  ?  "  he  said. 

"I  do  now,"  said  Cynthia,  looking  at  him  rather 
timidly  through  her  lashes.  Her  face  was  hot,  and  she  had 
been  very  uncomfortable  during  Mr.  Merrill's  remarks. 
Furthermore,  Bob  had  not  taken  his  eyes  off  her. 


MR.  WOBTHINGTON  BECOMES  A  REFORMER    145 

"  I  remembered  you  right  away,"  he  said  reproachfully  ; 
"  I  saw  you  in  front  of  the  house  this  morning,  and  you 
ran  away." 

"  I  didn't  run  away,"  replied  Cynthia,  indignantly. 

"  It  looked  like  it  to  me,"  said  Bob.  "  I  suppose  you 
were  afraid  I  was  going  to  give  you  another  whistle." 

Cynthia  bit  her  lip,  and  then  she  laughed.  Then  she 
looked  around  to  see  where  Jethro  was,  and  discovered 
that  they  were  alone  in  front  of  the  meeting-house. 
Ephraim  and  her  father  had  passed  on  while  Mr.  Merrill 
was  talking. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Bob. 

"  I'm  afraid  they've  gone,"  said  Cynthia.  "  I  ought  to  be 
going  after  them.  They'll  miss  me." 

"  Oh,  no,  they  won't,"  said  Bob,  easily,  "  let's  sit  down 
under  the  tree.  They'll  come  back." 

Whereupon  he  sat  down  under  the  maple.  But  Cynthia 
remained  standing,  ready  to  fly.  She  had  an  idea  that  it 
was  wrong  to  stay  —  which  made  it  all  the  more  delightful. 

"  Sit  down  —  Cynthia,"  said  he. 

She  glanced  down  at  him,  startled.  He  was  sitting, 
with  his  legs  crossed,  looking  up  at  her  intently. 

"  I  like  that  name,"  he  observed.  "  I  like  it  better  than 
any  girl's  name  I  know.  Do  be  good-natured  and  sit 
down."  And  he  patted  the  ground  close  beside  him. 

She  laughed  again.  The  laugh  had  in  it  an  exquisite 
note  of  shyness,  which  he  liked. 

"  Why  do  you  want  me  to  sit  down  ? "  she  asked 
suddenly. 

"  Because  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  Can't  you  talk  to  me  standing  up  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  could,"  said  Bob,  "  but  I  shouldn't  be  able 
to  say  such  nice  things  to  you." 

The  corners  of  her  mouth  trembled  a  little. 

"  And  whose  loss  would  that  be  ?  "  she  asked. 

Bob  Worthington  was  surprised  at  this  retort,  and  cor 
respondingly  delighted.  He  had  not  expected  it  in  a 
country  storekeeper's  daughter,  and  he  stared  at  Cynthia 
so  frankly  that  she  blushed  again,  and  turned  away.  He 


146  CONISTON 

was  a  young  man  who,  it  may  be  surmised,  had  had  some 
experience  with  the  other  sex  at  Andover  and  elsewhere. 
He  had  not  spent  all  of  his  life  in  Brampton. 

"  I've  often  thought  of  you  since  that  day  when  you 
wouldn't  take  the  whistle,"  he  declared.  "  What  are  you 
laughing  at  ?  " 

"  I'm  laughing  at  you,"  said  Cynthia,  leaning  against 
the  tree,  with  her  hands  behind  her. 

"  You've  been  laughing  at  me  ever  since  you've  stood 
there,"  he  said,  aggrieved  that  his  declarations  should  not 
be  taken  more  seriously. 

"  What  have  you  thought  about  me  ?  "  she  demanded. 
She  was  really  beginning  to  enjoy  this  episode. 

"  Well — "  he  began,  and  hesitated  —  and  broke  down 
and  laughed  —  Cynthia  laughed  with  him. 

"  I  can  tell  you  what  I  didn't  think,"  said  Bob. 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Cynthia,  falling  into  the  trap. 

"  I  didn't  think  you'd  be  so  —  so  good-looking,"  said  he, 
quite  boldly. 

"  And  I  didn't  think  you'd  be  so  rude,"  responded 
Cynthia.  But  though  she  blushed  again,  she  was  not 
exactly  displeased. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  this  afternoon  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Let's  go  for  a  walk." 

"  I'm  going  back  to  Coniston." 

"  Let's  go  for  a  walk  now,"  said  he,  springing  to  his 
feet.  "  Come  on." 

Cynthia  looked  at  him  and  shook  her  head  smilingly. 

"  Here's  Uncle  Jethro  —  " 

"  Uncle  Jethro  !  "  exclaimed  Bob,  "  is  he  your  uncle  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  not  really.  But  he's  just  the  same.  He's 
very  good  to  me." 

"  I  wonder  whether  he'd  mind  if  I  called  him  Uncle 
Jethro,  too,"  said  Bob,  and  Cynthia  laughed  at  the  notion. 
This  young  man  was  certainly  very  comical,  and  very 
frank.  "Good-by,"  he  said;  "  I'll  come  to  see  you  some 
day  in  Coniston." 


CHAPTER    XII 

"  A   TIME   TO    WEEP,    AND    A   TIME   TO   LAUGH " 

THAT  evening,  after  Cynthia  had  gone  to  bed,  William 
Wetherell  sat  down  at  Jonah  Winch's  desk  in  the  rear  of 
the  store  to  gaze  at  a  blank  sheet  of  paper  until  the  Muses 
chose  to  send  him  subject-matter  for  his  weekly  letter 
to  the  Guardian.  The  window  was  open,  and  the  cool 
airs  from  the  mountain  spruces  mingled  with  the  odors  of 
corn  meal  and  kerosene  and  calico  print.  Jethro  Bass, 
who  had  supped  with  the  storekeeper,  sat  in  the  wooden 
armchair  silent,  with  his  head  bent.  Sometimes  he  would 
sit  there  by  the  hour  while  Wetherell  wrote  or  read,  and 
take  his  departure  when  he  was  so  moved  without  saying 
good  night.  Presently  Jethro  lifted  his  chin,  and  dropped 
it  again  ;  there  was  a  sound  of  wheels  without,  and,  after 
an  interval,  a  knock  at  the  door. 

William  Wetherell  dropped  his  pen  with  a  Ltart  of  sur 
prise,  as  it  was  late  for  a  visitor  in  Coniston.  He  glanced 
at  Jethro,  who  did  not  move,  and  then  he  went  to  the 
door  and  shot  back  the  great  forged  bolt  of  it,  and  stared 
out.  On  the  edge  of  the  porch  stood  a  tallish  man  in  a 
double-breasted  frock  coat. 

"  Mr.  Worthington  !  "  exclaimed  the  storekeeper. 

Mr.  Worthington  coughed  and  pulled  at  one  of  his 
mutton-chop  whiskers,  and  seemed  about  to  step  off  the 
porch  again.  It  was,  indeed,  the  first  citizen  and  reformer 
of  Brampton.  No  wonder  William  Wetherell  was  mys 
tified. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Have  you 
missed  your  way  ?  " 

Wetherell  thought  he  heard  him  muttering,  "  No,  no," 

147 


148  CONISTON 

and  then  he  was  startled  by  another  voice  in  his  ear.  It 
was  Jethro  who  was  standing  beside  him. 

"  G-guess  he  hain't  missed  his  way  a  great  deal.  Er  — 
come  in  —  come  in." 

Mr.  Worthington  took  a  couple  of  steps  forward. 

"  I  understood  that  you  were  to  be  alone,"  he  remarked, 
addressing  Jethro  with  an  attempted  severity  of  manner. 

"  Didn't  say  so  —  d-didn't  say  so,  did  I  ? "  answered 
Jethro. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  "  any  other  time 
will  do  for  this  little  matter." 

"Er  —  good  night,"  said  Jethro,  shortly,  and  there  was 
/the  suspicion  of  a  gleam  in  his  eye  as  Mr.  Worthington 
turned  away.  The  mill-owner,  in  fact,  did  not  get  any 
farther  than  the  edge  of  the  porch  before  he  wheeled  again. 

"  The  affair  which  I  have  to  discuss  with  you  is  of  a 
private  nature,  Mr.  Bass,"  he  said. 

"  So  I  callated,"  said  Jethro. 

"  You  may  have  the  place  to  yourselves,  gentlemen," 
Wetherell  put  in  uneasily,  and  then  Mr.  Worthington 
came  as  far  as  the  door,  where  he  stood  looking  at  the 
storekeeper  with  scant  friendliness.  Jethro  turned  to 
Wetherell. 

"  You  a  politician,  Will  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  No,"  said  Wetherell. 

"  You  a  business  man  ?  " 

"No,"  he  said  again. 

"  You  ever  tell  folks  what  you  hear  other  people  say  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  the  storekeeper  answered  ;  "  I'm  not 
interested  in  other  people's  business." 

"  Ex'actly,"  said  Jethro.     "  Guess  you'd  better  stay." 

"  But  I  don't  care  to  stay,"  Wetherell  objected. 

"  S-stay  to  oblige  me  —  stay  to  oblige  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  yes,  if  you  put  it  that  way,"  Wetherell  said, 
beginning  to  get  some  amusement  out  of  the  situation. 

He  did  not  know  what  Jethro's  object  was  in  this 
matter;  perhaps  others  may  guess. 

Mr.  Worthington,  who  had  stood  by  with  ill-disguised 
impatience  during  this  colloquy,  now  broke  in. 


«A  TIME  TO  WEEP,  AND  A  TIME  TO  LAUGH"     149 

"  It  is  most  unusual,  Mr.  Bass,  to  have  a  third  person 
present  at  a  conference  in  which  he  has  no  manner  of 
concern.  I  think  on  the  whole,  since  you  have  insisted 
upon  my  coming  to  you  — " 

"  H-hain't  insisted  that  I  know  of,"  said  Jethro. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  "  never  mind  that. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  come  to  you  some 
other  time,  when  you  are  alone." 

In  the  meantime  Wetherell  had  shut  the  door,  and  they 
had  gradually  walked  to  the  rear  of  the  store.  Jethro 
parted  his  coat  tails,  and  sat  down  again  in  the  armchair. 
Wetherell,  not  wishing  to  be  intrusive,  went  to  his  desk 
again,  leaving  the  first  citizen  standing  among  the  barrels. 

"  W-what  other  time  ?  "  Jethro  asked. 

"  Any  other  time,"  said  Mr.  Worthington. 

"  What  other  time  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  night  ? "  suggested  Mr.  Worthington, 
striving  to  hide  his  annoyance. 

"  B-busy  to-morrow  night,"  said  Jethro. 

"  You  know  that  what  I  have  to  talk  to  you  about  is  of 
the  utmost  importance,"  said  Worthington.  "  Let  us  say 
Saturday  night." 

"  B-busy  Saturday  night,"  said  Jethro.  "  Meet  you 
to-morrow." 

"  What  time  ?  " 

"Noon,"  said  Jethro,  "noon." 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Worthington,  dubiously. 

"  Band  stand  in  Brampton  Street,"  said  Jethro,  and  the 
storekeeper  was  fain  to  bend  over  his  desk  to  conceal  his 
laughter,  busying  himself  with  his  books.  Mr.  Worth 
ington  sat  down  with  as  much  dignity  as  he  could  muster 
on  one  of  Jonah's  old  chairs,  and  Jonah  Winch's  clock 
ticked  and  ticked,  and  Wetherell's  pen  scratched  and 
scratched  on  his  weekly  letter  to  Mr.  Willard,  although 
he  knew  that  he  was  writing  the  sheerest  nonsense.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  he  tore  up  the  sheets  the  next  morning 
without  reading  them.  Mr.  Worthington  unbuttoned  his 
coat,  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  and  pulled  out  two  cigars, 
one  of  which  he  pushed  toward  Jethro,  who  shook  his 


150  CONISTON 

head.  Mr.  Worthington  lighted  his  cigar  and  cleared  his 
throat. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  observed,  Mr.  Bass,"  he  said,  "  that 
this  is  a  rapidly  growing  section  of  the  state  —  that  the 
people  hereabouts  are  every  day  demanding  modern  and 
efficient  means  of  communication  with  the  outside  world." 

"  Struck  you  as  a  mill  owner,  has  it  ?  "  said  Jethro. 

"  I  do  not  care  to  emphasize  my  private  interests," 
answered  Mr.  Worthington,  at  last  appearing  to  get  into 
his  stride  again.  "  I  wish  to  put  the  matter  on  broader 
grounds.  Men  like  you  and  me  ought  not  to  be  so  much 
concerned  with  our  own  affairs  as  with  those  of  the  popu 
lation  amongst  whom  we  live.  And  I  think  I  am  justified 
in  putting  it  to  you  on  these  grounds." 

"  H-have  to  be  justified,  do  you  —  have  to  be  justified  ?  " 
Jethro  inquired.  "  Er  —  why  ?  " 

This  was  a  poser,  and  for  a  moment  he  stared  at  Jethro, 
blankly,  until  he  decided  how  to  take  it.  Then  he  crossed 
his  legs  and  blew  smoke  toward  the  ceiling. 

"  It  is  certainly  fairer  to  everybody  to  take  the  broadest 
view  of  a  situation,"  he  remarked;  "  I  am  trying  to  regard 
this  from  the  aspect  of  a  citizen,  and  I  am  quite  sure  that 
it  will  appeal  to  you  in  the  same  light.  If  the  spirit  which 
imbued  the  founders  of  this  nation  means  anything,  Mr. 
Bass,  it  means  that  the  able  men  who  are  given  a  chance 
to  rise  by  their  own  efforts  must  still  retain  the  duties 
and  responsibilities  of  the  humblest  citizens.  That,  I 
take  it,  is  our  position,  Mr.  Bass,  —  yours  and  mine." 

Mr.  Worthington  had  uncrossed  his  legs,  and  was  now 
by  the  inspiration  of  his  words  impelled  to  an  upright 
position.  Suddenly  he  glanced  at  Jethro,  and  started  — 
for  Jethro  had  sunk  down  on  the  small  of  his  back,  his 
chin  on  his  chest,  in  an  attitude  of  lassitude  if  not  of 
oblivion.  There  was  a  silence  perhaps  a  little  disconcert 
ing  for  Mr.  Worthington,  who  chose  the  opportunity  to 
relight  his  cigar. 

"  G-got  through  ?  "  said  Jethro,  without  moving,  "  g-got 
through  ?  " 

"  Through  ? "  echoed  Mr.  Worthington,  "  through 
what?" 


"A  TIME  TO  WEEP,  AND  A  TIME  TO  LAUGH"     151 

"  T-through  Sunday-school,"  said  Jethro. 

Worthington  dropped  his  match  and  stamped  on  it,  and 
Wetherell  began  to  wonder  how  much  the  man  would 
stand.  It  suddenly  came  over  the  storekeeper  that  the 
predicament  in  which  Mr.  Worthington  found  himself  — 
whatever  it  was  —  must  be  a  very  desperate  one.  He  half 
rose  in  his  chair,  sat  down  again,  and  lighted  another 
match. 

"  Er  —  director  in  the  Truro  Road,  hain't  you,  Mr. 
Worthington  ?  "  asked  Jethro,  without  looking  at  him. 

"Yes." 

"  Er  —  principal  stockholder  —  ain't  you  ?  " 
'  Yes  — but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there,  sir." 
'  Road  don't  pay —  r-road  don't  pay,  does  it  ?  " 
'  It  certainly  does  not." 

'  W-would  pay  if  it  went  to  Brampton  and  Harwich  ?  " 
'  Mr.  Bass,  the  company  consider  that  they  are  pledged 
to  the  people   of  this  section  to  get  the  road   through. 
I  am  not  prepared  to  say  whether  the  road  would  pay, 
but  it  is  quite  likely  that  it  would  not." 

"  Ch-charitable  organization  ? "  said  Jethro,  from  the 
depths  of  his  chair. 

"  The  pioneers  in  such  matters  take  enormous  risks  for 
the  benefit  of  the  community,  sir.  We  believe  that  we 
are  entitled  to  a  franchise,  and  in  my  opinion  the  Gen 
eral  Court  are  behaving  disgracefully  in  refusing  us  one. 
I  will  not  say  all  I  think  about  that  affair,  Mr.  Bass.  I  am 
convinced  that  influences  are  at  work — "  He  broke  off 
with  a  catch  in  his  throat. 

"  T-tried  to  get  a  franchise,  did  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  here  to  quibble  with  you,  Mr.  Bass.  We 
tried  to  get  it  by  every  legitimate  means,  and  failed,  and 
you  know  it  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  Er  —  Heth  Button  didn't  sign  his  receipt  —  er  —  did 
he?" 

The  storekeeper,  not  being  a  politician,  was  not  aware 
that  the  somewhat  obscure  reference  of  Jethro's  to  the 
Speaker  of  the  House  concerned  an  application  which  Mr. 
Worthington  was  supposed  to  have  made  to  that  gentle- 


152  CONISTON 

man,  who  had  at  length  acknowledged  his  inability  to 
oblige,  and  had  advised  Mr.  Worthington  to  go  to  head 
quarters.  And  Mr.  Stephen  Merrill,  who  had  come  to 
Brampton  out  of  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  had  only  ar 
ranged  this  meeting  in  a  conversation  with  Jethro  that 
day,  after  the  reform  speech. 

Mr.  Worthington  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  flung  out  a 
hand  toward  Jethro. 

"Prove  your  insinuations,  sir,"  he  cried;  "I  defy  you 
to  prove  your  insinuations." 

But  Jethro  still  sat  unmoved. 

"  H-Heth  in  the  charitable  organization,  too  ? '   he  asked. 

"  People  told  me  I  was  a  fool  to  believe  in  honesty,  but 
I  thought  better  of  the  lawmakers  of  my  state.  I'll  tell 
you  plainly  what  they  said  to  me,  sir.  They  said, '  Go  to 
Jethro  Bass.' '' 

"  Well,  so  you  have,  hain't  you?     So  you  have." 

"  Yes,  I  have.  I've  come  to  appeal  to  you  in  behalf  of 
the  people  of  your  section  to  allow  that  franchise  to  go 
through  the  present  Legislature." 

"  Er  —  come  to  appeal,  have  you  —  come  to  appeal?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  sitting  down  again ;  "  I 
have  come  to-night  to  appeal  to  you  in  the  name  of  the 
farmers  and  merchants  of  this  region  —  your  neighbors, 
—  to  use  your  influence  to  get  that  franchise.  I  have 
come  to  you  with  the  conviction  that  I  shall  not  have 
appealed  in  vain." 

"  Er  —  appealed  to  Heth  in  the  name  of  the  farmers 
and  merchants  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Sutton  is  Speaker  of  the  House." 

"F-farmers  and  merchants  elected  him,"  remarked 
Jethro,  as  though  stating  a  fact. 

Worthington  coughed. 

"  It  is  probable  that  I  made  a  mistake  in  going  to  Sut 
ton,"  he  admitted. 

"  If  I  w-wanted  to  catch  a  pike,  w-wouldn't  use  a  pin- 
hook." 

"  I  might  have  known,"  remarked  Worthington,  after  a 
pause,  "  that  Sutton  could  not  have  been  elected  Speaker 
without  your  influence." 


«A  TIME  TO  WEEP,  AND  A  TIME  TO  LAUGH  "    153 

Jethro  did  not  answer  that,  but  still  remained  sunk  in 
his  chair.  To  all  appearances  he  might  have  been  asleep. 

"  W- worth  somethin'  to  the  farmers  and  merchants  to 
get  that  road  through  —  w-worth  somethin',  ain't  it?" 

Wetherell  held  his  breath.  For  a  moment  Mr.  Worth- 
ingtoii  sat  very  still,  his  face  drawn,  and  then  he  wet  his 
lips  and  rose  slowly. 

"  We  may  as  well  end  this  conversation,  Mr.  Bass,"  he 
said,  and  though  he  tried  to  speak  firmly  his  voice  shook ; 
"it  seems  to  be  useless.  Good  night." 

He  picked  up  his  hat  and  walked  slowly  toward  the 
door,  but  Jethro  did  not  move  or  speak.  Mr.  Worthing- 
ton  reached  the  door,  opened  it,  and  the  night  breeze 
started  the  lamp  to  smoking.  Wetherell  got  up  and 
turned  it  down,  and  the  first  citizen  was  still  standing  in 
the  doorway.  His  back  was  toward  them,  but  the  fingers 
of  his  left  hand  working  convulsively  caught  Wetherell's 
eye  and  held  it ;  save  for  the  ticking  of  the  clock  and  the 
chirping  of  the  crickets  in  the  grass,  there  was  silence. 
Then  Mr.  Worthington  closed  the  door  softly,  hesitated, 
turned,  and  came  back  and  stood  before  Jethro. 

"  Mr.  Bass,"  he  said,  "  we've  got  to  have  that  franchise." 

William  Wetherell  glanced  at  the  countryman  who, 
without  moving  in  his  chair,  without  raising  his  voice, 
had  brought  the  first  citizen  of  Brampton  to  his  knees. 
The  thing  frightened  the  storekeeper,  revolted  him,  and 
yet  its  drama  held  him  fascinated.  By  some  subtle  pro 
cess  which  he  had  actually  beheld,  but  could  not  fathom, 
this  cold  Mr.  Worthington,  this  bank  president  who  had 
given  him  sage  advice,  this  preacher  of  political  purity, 
had  been  reduced  to  a  frenzied  supplicant.  He  stood 
bending  over  Jethro. 

*  What's  your  price  ?     Name  it,  for  God's  sake." 

'  B-better  wait  till  you  get  the  bill  —  hadn't  you? — 
b-better  wait  till  you  get  the  bill." 

'  Will  you  put  the  franchise  through  ?  " 

'  Goin'  down  to  the  capital  soon  ?  "  Jethro  inquired. 

'  I'm  going  down  on  Thursday." 

'  B-better  come  in  and  see  me,"  said  Jethro. 


154  COtflSTON 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Mr.  Worthington  ;  M  I'll  be  in 
at  two  o'clock  on  Thursday."  And  then,  without  an 
other  word  to  either  of  them,  he  swung  on  his  heel  and 
strode  quickly  out  of  the  store.  Jethro  did  not  move. 

William  Wetherell's  hand  was  trembling  so  that  he 
could  not  write,  and  he  could  not  trust  his  voice  to  speak. 
Although  Jethro  had  never  mentioned  Isaac  Worthing- 
ton's  name  to  him,  Wetherell  knew  that  Jethro  hated  the 
first  citizen  of  Brampton. 

At  length,  when  the  sound  of  the  wheels  had  died  away,. 
Jethro  broke  the  silence. 

"Er  —  didn't  laugh  — did  he,  Will?  Didn't  laugh 
once  —  did  he  ?  " 

"  Laugh  !  "  echoed  the  storekeeper,  who  himself  had 
never  been  further  from  laughter  in  his  life. 

"  M-might  have  let  him  off  easier  if  he'd  laughed,"  said 
Jethro,  "  if  he'd  laughed  fust  once,  m-might  have  let  him 
off  easier." 

And  with  this  remark  he  went  out  of  the  store  and  left 
Wetherell  alone. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

MR.    WETHERELL   DESCENDS   INTO   THE   ARENA 

THE  weekly  letter  to  the  Newcastle  Guardian  was  not 
finished  that  night,  but  Coniston  slept,  peacefully,  unaware 
of  Mr.  Worthington's  visit;  and  never,  indeed,  discovered 
it,  since  the  historian  for  various  reasons  of  his  own  did 
not  see  fit  to  insert  the  event  in  his  plan  of  the  Town 
History.  Before  another  sun  had  set  Jethro  Bass  had 
departed  for  the  state  capital,  not  choosing  to  remain  to 
superintend  the  haying  of  the  many  farms  which  had 
fallen  into  his  hand,  —  a  most  unusual  omission  for  him. 

Presently  rumors  of  a  mighty  issue  about  the  Truro 
Railroad  began  to  be  discussed  by  the  politicians  at  the 
Coniston  store,  and  Jake  Wheeler  held  himself  in  instant 
readiness  to  answer  a  summons  to  the  capital  —  which 
never  came. 

Delegations  from  Brampton  and  Harwich  went  to 
petition  the  Legislature  for  the  franchise,  and  the  Bramp 
ton  Clarion  and  Harwich  Sentinel  declared  that  the  people 
of  Truro  County  recognized  in  Isaac  Worthington  a  great 
and  public-spirited  man,  who  ought  by  all  means  to  be  the 
next  governor  —  if  the  franchise  went  through. 

One  evening  Lem  Hallowell,  after  depositing  a  box  of 
trimmings  at  Ephraim  Prescott's  harness  shop,  drove  up 
to  the  platform  of  the  store  with  the  remark  that  "  things 
were  gittin'  pretty  hot  down  to  the  capital  in  that  fran 
chise  fight." 

"  Hain't  you  b'en  sent  for  yet,  Jake  ?"  he  cried,  throw 
ing  his  reins  over  the  backs  of  his  sweating  Morgans  ; 
"  well,  that's  strange.  Guess  the  fight  hain't  as  hot  as  we 
hear  about.  Jethro  hain't  had  to  call  out  his  best  men." 

165 


156  CONISTON 

"I'm  a-goin'  down  if  there's  trouble,"  declared  Jake, 
who  consistently  ignored  banter. 

"  Better  git  up  and  git,"  said  Lem  ;  "  there's  three  out 
of  the  five  railroads  against  Truro,  and  Steve  Merrill  lay  in' 
low.  Bije  Bixby's  down  there,  and  Heth  Sutton,  and 
Abner  Parkinson,  and  all  the  big  bugs.  Better  git  aboard, 
Jake." 

At  this  moment  the  discussion  was  interrupted  by  the 
sight  of  Cynthia  Wetherell  coming  across  the  green  with 
an  open  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  It's  a  message  from  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said. 

The  announcement  was  sufficient  to  warrant  the  sensa 
tion  it  produced  on  all  sides. 

"  'Taiu't  a  letter  from  Jethro,  is  it  ? "  exclaimed  Sam 
Price,  overcome  by  a  pardonable  curiosity.  For  it  was 
well  known  that  one  of  Jethro's  fixed  principles  in  life 
was  embodied  in  his  own  motto,  "  Don't  write  —  send." 

"  It's  very  funny,"  answered  Cynthia,  looking  down  at 
the  paper  with  a  puzzled  expression.  "  '  Dear  Cynthia  : 
Judge  Bass  wished  me  to  say  to  you  that  he  would  be 
pleased  if  you  and  Will  would  come  to  the  capital  and 
spend  a  week  with  him  at  the  Pelican  House,  and  see  the 
sights.  The  judge  says  Rias  Richardson  will  tend  store. 
Yours  truly,  P.  Hartington.'  That's  all,"  said  Cynthia, 
looking  up. 

For  a  moment  you  could  have  heard  a  pine  needle  drop 
on  the  stoop.  Then  Rias  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  voiced  the  general  sentiment. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  —  goldurned !  "  said  he. 

"Didn't  say  nothin'  about  Jake  ?"  queried  Lem. 

"  No,"  answered  Cynthia,  "  that's  all  —  except  two  pieces 
of  cardboard  with  something  about  the  Truro  Railroad  and 
our  names.  I  don't  know  what  they  are."  And  she 
took  them  from  the  envelope. 

"  Guess  I  could  tell  you  if  I  was  pressed,"  said  Lem, 
amid  a  shout  of  merriment  from  the  group. 

"  Air  you  goin',  Will?"  said  Sam  Price,  pausing  with  his 
foot  on  the  step  of  his  buggy,  that  he  might  have  the 
complete  news  before  he  left. 


ME.  WETHEEELL  DESCENDS  INTO  THE  AEENA    157 

"  Godfrey,  Will,"  exclaimed  Rias,  breathlessly,  "  you 
hain't  a-goin'  to  throw  up  a  chance  to  stay  a  hull  week  at 
the  Pelican,  be  you  ? "  The  mere  possibility  of  refusal 
overpowered  Rias. 


Those  who  are  familiar  with  that  delightful  French 
song  which  treats  of  the  leave-taking  of  one  Monsieur  Du- 
mollet  will  appreciate,  perhaps,  the  attentions  which  were 
showered  upon  William  Wetherell  and  Cynthia  upon  their 
departure  for  the  capital  next  morning.  Although  Mr. 
Wetherell  had  at  one  time  been  actually  a  resident  of 
Boston,  he  received  quite  as  many  cautions  from  his 
neighbors  as  Monsieur  Dumollet.  Billets  doux  and  pistols 
were,  of  course,  not  mentioned,  but  it  certainly  behooved 
him,  when  he  should  have  arrived  at  that  place  of  in 
trigues,  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  cabals. 

They  took  the  stage-coach  from  Brampton  over  the 
pass:  picturesque  stage-coach  with  its  apple-green  body 
and  leather  springs,  soon  to  be  laid  away  forever  if  the 
coveted  Truro  Franchise  Bill  becomes  a  law;  stage-coach 
which  pulls  up  defiantly  beside  its  own  rival  at  Truro  sta 
tion,  where  our  passengers  take  the  train  down  the  pleas 
ant  waterways  and  past  the  little  white  villages  among 
the  fruit  trees  to  the  capital.  The  thrill  of  anticipation 
was  in  Cynthia's  blood,  and  the  flush  of  pleasure  on  her 
cheeks,  when  they  stopped  at  last  under  the  sheds.  The 
conductor  snapped  his  fingers  and  cried,  "This  way, 
Judge,"  and  there  was  Jethro  in  his  swallow-tailed  coat 
and  stove-pipe  hat  awaiting  them.  He  seized  Wetherell's 
carpet-bag  with  one  hand  and  Cynthia's  arm  with  the 
other,  and  shouldered  his  way  through  the  people,  who 
parted  when  they  saw  who  it  was. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  cried  Cynthia,  breathlessly,  "  I  didn't 
know  you  were  a  judge.  What  are  you  judge  of?" 

"J-judge  of  clothes,  Cynthy.  D-don't  you  wish  you 
had  the  red  cloth  to  wear  here  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Cynthia.  "I'm  glad  enough  to  be 
here  without  it." 


158  CONISTON 

"  G-glad  to  hev  you  in  any  fixin's,  Cynthy,"  he  said,  giv 
ing  her  arm  a  little  squeeze,  and  by  that  time  they  were  up 
the  hill  and  William  Wetherell  quite  winded.  For  Jethro 
was  strong  as  an  ox,  and  Cynthia's  muscles  were  like  an 
Indian's. 

They  were  among  the  glories  of  Main  Street  now. 
The  capital  was  then,  and  still  remains,  a  typically 
beautiful  .New  England  city,  with  wide  streets  shaded 
by  shapely  maples  and  elms,  with  substantial  homes  set 
back  amidst  lawns  and  gardens.  Here  on  Main  Street 
were  neat  brick  business  buildings  and  banks  and  shops, 
with  the  parklike  grounds  of  the  Capitol  farther  on,  and 
everywhere,  from  curb  to  doorway,  were  knots  of  men 
talking  politics;  broad-faced,  sunburned  farmers  in  store 
clothes,  with  beards  that  hid  their  shirt  fronts  ;  keen- 
featured,  sallow,  country  lawyers  in  long  black  coats 
crumpled  from  much  sitting  on  the  small  of  the  back; 
country  storekeepers  with  shrewd  eyes,  and  local  pro 
prietors  and  manufacturers. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,  I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  great 
man,"  she  said. 

"  H-how  did  ye  find  out,  Cynthy  ?  " 

"  The  way  people  treat  you  here.  I  knew  you  were 
great,  of  course,"  she  hastened  to  add. 

"  H-how  do  they  treat  me  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  down  at 
her. 

"  You  know,"  she  answered.  "  They  all  stop  talking  when 
you  come  along  and  stare  at  you.  But  why  don't  you 
speak  to  them  ?  " 

Jethro  smiled  and  squeezed  her  arm  again,  and  then  they 
were  in  the  corridor  of  the  famous  Pelican  Hotel,  hazy 
with  cigar  smoke  and  filled  with  politicians.  Some  were 
standing,  hanging  on  to  pillars,  gesticulating,  some  were 
ranged  in  benches  along  the  wall,  and  a  chosen  few  were 
in  chairs  grouped  around  the  spittoons.  Upon  the  ap 
pearance  of  Jethro's  party,  the  talk  was  hushed,  the  groups 
gave  way,  and  they  accomplished  a  kind  of  triumphal 
march  to  the  desk.  The  clerk,  descrying  them,  desisted 
abruptly  from  a  conversation  across  the  cigar  counter, 


MR.  WETHERELL  DESCENDS  INTO  THE  ARENA    159 

and  with  all  the  form  of  a  ceremony  dipped  the  pen  with 
a  flourish  into  the  ink  and  handed  it  to  Jethro. 

"  Your  rooms  are  ready,  Judge,"  he  said. 

As  they  started  for  the  stairs,  Jethro  and  Cynthia  lead 
ing  the  way,  Wetherell  felt  a  touch  on  his  elbow  and 
turned  to  confront  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby  —  at  very  close  range, 
as  usual. 

"C-come  down  at  last,  Will?"  he  said.  "Thought  ye 
would.  Need  everybody  this  time  —  you  understand." 

"I  came  on  pleasure,"  retorted  Mr.  Wetherell,  some 
what  angrily. 

Mr.  Bixby  appeared  hugely  to  enjoy  the  joke. 

"  So  I  callated,"  he  cried,  still  holding  Wetherell's  hand 
in  a  mild,  but  persuasive  grip.  "  So  I  callated.  Guess  I 
done  you  an  injustice,  Will." 

"How's  that?" 

"  You're  a  leetle  mite  smarter  than  I  thought  you  was. 
So  long.  Got  a  leetle  business  now  —  you  understand  — 
a  leetle  business." 

Was  it  possible,  indeed,  for  the  simple-minded  to  come 
to  the  capital  and  not  become  involved  in  cabals  ?  With 
some  misgivings  William  Wetherell  watched  Mr.  Bixby 
disappear  among  the  throng,  kicking  up  his  heels  behind, 
and  then  went  upstairs.  On  the  first  floor  Cynthia  was 
standing  by  an  open  door. 

"  Dad,"  she  cried,  "  come  and  see  the  rooms  Uncle 
Jethro's  got  for  us  !  "  She  took  Wetherell's  hand  and  led 
him  in.  "  See  the  lace  curtains,  and  the  chandelier,  and 
the  big  bureau  with  the  marble  top." 

Jethro  had  parted  his  coat  tails  and  seated  himself 
enjoyably  on  the  bed. 

"  D-don't  come  often,"  he  said,  "  m-might  as  well  have 
the  best." 

"  Jethro,"  said  Wetherell,  coughing  nervously  and  fum 
bling  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat,  "  you've  been  very  kind  to 
us,  and  we  hardly  know  how  to  thank  you.  I-I  didn't 
have  any  use  for  these." 

He  held  out  the  pieces  of  cardboard  which  had  come  in 
Cynthia's  letter.  He  dared  not  look  at  Jethro,  and  his  eye 


160  CONISTON 

was  fixed  instead  upon  the  somewhat  grandiose  signature 
of  Isaac  D.  Worthington,  which  they  bore.  Jethro  took 
them  and  tore  them  up,  and  slowly  tossed  the  pieces  into 
a  cuspidor  conveniently  situated  near  the  foot  of  the  bed. 
He  rose  and  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets. 

"  Er  —  when  you  get  freshened  up,  come  into  Number 
7,"  he  said. 

Number  7  !  But  we  shall  come  to  that  later.  Supper 
first,  in  a  great  pillared  dining  room  filled  with  notables, 
if  we  only  had  the  key.  Jethro  sits  silent  at  the  head  of 
the  table  eating  his  crackers  and  milk,  with  Cynthia  on 
his  left  and  William  Wetherell  on  his  right.  Poor  William, 
greatly  embarrassed  by  his  sudden  projection  into  the  lime 
light,  is  helpless  in  the  clutches  of  a  lady-waitress  who  is 
demanding  somewhat  fiercely  that  he  make  an  immediate 
choice  from  a  list  of  dishes  which  she  is  shooting  at  him 
with  astonishing  rapidity.  But  who  is  this,  sitting  beside 
him,  who  comes  to  William's  rescue,  and  demands  that  the 
lady  repeat  the  bill  of  fare  ?  Surely  a  notable,  for  he  has 
a  generous  presence,  and  jet-black  whiskers  which  catch 
the  light,  which  give  the  gentleman,  as  Mr.  Bixby  remarked, 
"quite  a  settin'."  Yes,  we  have  met  him  at  last.  It  is 
none  other  than  the  Honorable  Heth  Sutton,  Rajah  of 
Clovelly,  Speaker  of  the  House,  who  has  condescended  to 
help  Mr.  Wetherell. 

His  chamberlain,  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby,  sits  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Honorable  Heth,  and  performs  the  presentation  of 
Mr.  Wetherell.  But  Mr.  Sutton,  as  becomes  a  man  of  high 
position,  says  little  after  he  has  rebuked  the  waitress,  and 
presently  departs  with  a  carefully  chosen  toothpick ; 
whereupon  Mr.  Bixby  moves  into  the  vacant  seat  —  not  to 
Mr.  Wetherell's  unqualified  delight. 

"  I've  knowed  him  ever  sence  we  was  boys,"  said  Mr. 
Bixby;  "you  saw  how  intimate  we  was.  When  he  wants  a 
thing  done,  he  says,  '  Bije,  you  go  out  and  git  'em.'  Never 
counts  the  cost.  He  was  nice  to  you  —  walm't  he, 
Will  ?  "  And  then  Mr.  Bixby  leaned  over  and  whispered 
in  Mr.  Wetherell's  ear,  "  He  knows  —  you  understand  — 
he  knows." 


ME.  WETHERELL  DESCENDS  INTO  THE  ARENA    161 

"  Knows  what  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Wetherell. 

Mr.  Bixby  gave  him  another  admiring  look. 

"  Knows  you  didn't  come  down  here  with  Jethro  jest 
to  see  the  sights." 

At  this  instant  the  talk  in  the  dining  room  fell  flat,  and 
looking  up  William  Wetherell  perceived  a  portly,  rubicund 
man  of  middle  age  being  shown  to  his  seat  by  the  head 
waiter.  The  gentleman  wore  a  great,  glittering  diamond  in 
his  shirt,  and  a  watch  chain  that  contained  much  fine  gold. 
But  the  real  cause  of  the  silence  was  plainly  in  the  young 
woman  who  walked  beside  him,  and  whose  effective  en 
trance  argued  no  little  practice  and  experience.  She  was 
of  a  type  that  catches  the  eye  involuntarily  and  holds  it, 
—  tall,  well-rounded,  f resh-complexioned,  with  heavy  coils 
of  shimmering  gold  hair.  Her  gown,  which  was  far  from 
unbecoming,  was  in  keeping  with  those  gifts  with  which 
nature  had  endowed  her.  She  carried  her  head  high,  and 
bestowed  swift  and  evidently  fatal  glances  to  right  and 
left  during  her  progress  through  the  room.  Mr.  Bixby's 
voice  roused  the  storekeeper  from  this  contemplation  of 
the  beauty. 

"  That's  Alvy  Hopkins  of  Gosport  and  his  daughter. 
Fine  gal,  hain't  she?  Ever  sence  she  come  down  here 
t'other  day  she's  stirred  up  more  turmoil  than  any  railroad 
bill  I  ever  seed.  She  was  most  suffocated  at  the  governor's 
ball  with  fellers  tryin'  to  git  dances  —  some  of  'em  old 
fellers,  too.  And  you  understand  about  Alvy  ?  " 

"  What  about  him  ?  " 

"  Alvy  says  he's  a-goin'  to  be  the  next  governor,  or  fail 
up."  Mr.  Bixby's  voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  and  he  spoke  into 
Mr.  Wetherell's  ear.  "  Alvy  says  he  has  twenty-five  thou 
sand  dollars  to  put  in  if  necessary.  I'll  introduce  you  to  him, 
Will,"  he  added  meaningly.  "Guess  you  can  help  him 
some  —  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Bixby  !  "  cried  Mr.  Wetherell,  putting  down  his 
knife  and  fork. 

"  There  !  "  said  Mr.  Bixby,  reassuringly,  "  'twon't  be  no 
bother.  I  know  him  as  well  as  I  do  you  —  call  each  other  by 
our  given  names.  Guess  I  was  the  first  man  he  sent  for  last 


162  CONISTON 

spring.  He  knows  I  go  through  all  them  river  towns. 
He  says,  '  Bije,  you  git  'em.'  I  understood." 

William  Wetherell  began  to  realize  the  futility  of  trying 
to  convince  Mr.  Bixby  of  his  innocence  in  political  mat 
ters,  and  glanced  at  Jethro. 

"You  wouldn't  think  he  was  listenin',  would  you,  Will  ?  " 
Mr.  Bixby  remarked. 

"Listening?" 

"Ears  are  sharp  as  a  dog's.  Callate  he  kin  hear  as 
far  as  the  governor's  table,  and  he  don't  look  as  if  he  knows 
anything.  One  way  he  built  up  his  power  —  listenin' 
when  they're  talkin'  sly  out  there  in  the  rotunda.  They're 
almighty  surprised  when  they  1'arn  he  knows  what  they're 
up  to.  Guess  you  understand  how  to  go  along  by  quiet 
and  listen  when  they're  talkin'  sly." 

"  I  never  did  such  a  thing  in  my  life,"  cried  William 
Wetherell,  indignantly  aghast. 

But  Mr.  Bixby  winked. 

"  So  long,  Will,"  he  said,  "  see  you  in  Number  7." 

Never,  since  the  days  of  Pompadour  and  Du  Barry,  until 
modern  American  politics  were  invented,  has  a  state  been 
ruled  from  such  a  place  as  Number  7  in  the  Pelican  House 
—  familiarly  known  as  the  Throne  Room.  In  this  historic 
cabinet  there  were  five  chairs,  a  marble-topped  table,  a 
pitcher  of  iced  water,  a  bureau,  a  box  of  cigars  and  a  Bible, 
a  chandelier  with  all  the  gas  jets  burning,  and  a  bed, 
whereon  sat  such  dignitaries  as  obtained  an  audience,  — 
railroad  presidents,  governors  and  ex-governors  and  pro 
spective  governors,  the  Speaker,  the  President  of  the  Senate, 
Bijah  Bixby,  Peleg  Hartington,  mighty  chiefs  from  the 
North  Country,  and  lieutenants  from  other  parts  of  the 
state.  These  sat  on  the  bed  by  preference.  Jethro  sat  in 
a  chair  by  the  window,  and  never  took  any  part  in  the  dis 
cussions  that  raged,  but  listened.  Generally  there  was 
some  one  seated  beside  him  who  talked  persistently  in  his 
ear  ;  as  at  present,  for  instance,  Mr.  Chauncey  Weed, 
Chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Corporations  of  the  House, 
who  took  the  additional  precaution  of  putting  his  hand  to 
his  mouth  when  he  spoke. 


MR.  WETHERELL  DESCENDS  INTO  THE  ARENA    163 

Mr.  Stephen  Merrill  was  in  the  Throne  Room  that  even 
ing,  and  confidentially  explained  to  the  bewildered  William 
Wetherell  the  exact  situation  in  the  Truro  Franchise  fight. 
Inasmuch  as  it  has  become  our  duty  to  describe  this  cele 
brated  conflict,  —  in  a  popular  and  engaging  manner,  if 
possible,  —  we  shall  have  to  do  so  through  Mr.  Wetherell's 
eyes,  and  on  his  responsibility.  The  biographies  of  some 
of  the  gentlemen  concerned  have  since  been  published,  and 
for  some  unaccountable  reason  contain  no  mention  of  the 
Truro  franchise. 

"All  Gaul,"  said  Mr.  Merrill  —  he  was  speaking  to  a 
literary  man  — "  all  Gaul  is  divided  into  five  railroads. 
I  am  one,  the  Grand  Gulf  and  Northern,  the  impecunious 
one.  That  is  the  reason  I'm  so  nice  to  everybody,  Mr. 
Wetherell.  The  other  day  a  conductor  on  my  road  had  a 
shock  of  paralysis  when  a  man  paid  his  fare.  Then  there's 
Balch,  president  of  the  '  Down  East '  road,  as  we  call  it. 
Balch  and  I  are  out  of  this  fight,  —  we  don't  care  whether 
Isaac  D.  Worthington  gets  his  franchise  or  not,  or  I 
wouldn't  be  telling  you  this.  The  two  railroads  which 
don't  want  him  to  get  it,  because  the  Truro  would  eventu 
ally  become  a  competitor  with  them,  are  the  Central  and 
the  Northwestern.  Alexander  Duncan  is  president  of  the 
Central." 

"  Alexander  Duncan  !  "  exclaimed  Wetherell.  "  He's 
the  richest  man  in  the  state,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Merrill,  "  and  he  lives  in  a  big  square 
house  right  here  in  the  capital.  He  ain't  a  bad  fellow, 
Duncan.  You'd  like  him.  He  loves  books.  I  wish  you 
could  see  his  library." 

"  I'm  afraid  there's  not  much  chance  of  that,"  answered 
Wetherell. 

"  Well,  as  I  say,  there's  Duncan,  of  the  Central,  and  the 
other  is  Lovejoy,  of  the  Northwestern.  Lovejoy's  a 
bachelor  and  a  skinflint.  Those  two,  Duncan  and  Love- 
joy,  are  using  every  means  in  their  power  to  prevent 
Worthington  from  getting  'that  franchise.  Have  I  made 
made  myself  clear  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  Mr.  Worthington  will  get  it  ?  "  asked 


164  CONISTON 

Wetherell,  who  had  in  mind  a  certain  nocturnal  visit  at 
his  store. 

Mr.  Merrill  almost  leaped  out  of  his  chair  at  the  ques 
tion.  Then  he  mopped  his  face,  and  winked  very  delib 
erately  at  the  storekeeper.  Then  Mr.  Merrill  laughed. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said,  "for  a  man  who  comes  down 
here  to  stay  with  Jethro  Bass  to  ask  me  that  !  "  Where 
upon  Mr.  Wetherell  flushed,  and  began  to  perspire  him 
self.  "  Didn't  you  hear  Isaac  D.  Worthington's  virtuous 
appeal  to  the  people  at  Brampton  ?  "  said  Mr.  Merrill. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Wetherell,  getting  redder. 

"  I  like  you,  Will,"  said  Mr.  Merrill,  unexpectedly, 
"  darned  if  I  don't.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  know  about  it, 
and  you  can  have  a  little  fun  while  you're  here,  lookin' 
on,  only  it  won't  do  to  write  about  it  to  the  Newcastle 
Guardian.  Guess  Willard  wouldn't  publish  it,  anyhow. 
I  suppose  you  know  that  Jethro  pulls  the  strings,  and  we 
little  railroad  presidents  dance.  We're  the  puppets  now, 
but  after  a  while,  when  I'm  crowded  out,  all  these  little 
railroads  will  get  together  and  there'll  be  a  row  worth 
looking  at,  or  I'm  mistaken.  But  to  go  back  to  Worth- 
ington,"  continued  Mr.  Merrill,  "  he  made  a  little  mistake 
with  his  bill  in  the  beginning.  Instead  of  going  to 
Jethro,  he  went  to  Heth  Sutton,  and  Heth  got  the  bill  as 
far  as  the  Committee  on  Corporations,  and  there  she's 
been  ever  since,  with  our  friend  Chauncey  Weed,  who's 
whispering  over  there." 

"Mr.  Sutton  couldn't  even  get  it  out  of  the  Com 
mittee  !  "  exclaimed  Wetherell. 

"  Not  an  inch.  Jethro  saw  this  thing  coming  about  a 
year  ago,  and  he  took  the  precaution  to  have  Chauncey 
Weed  and  the  rest  of  the  Committee  in  his  pocket  —  and 
of  course  Heth  Sutton's  always  been  there." 

William  Wetherell  thought  of  that  imposing  and  manly 
personage,  the  Honorable  Heth  Sutton,  being  in  Jethro's 
pocket,  and  marvelled.  Mr.  Chauncey  Weed  seemed  of 
a  species  better  able  to  thrive  in  the  atmosphere  of 
pockets. 

"  Well,  as  I  say,  there  was  the  Truro  Franchise  Bill 


ME.  WETHERELL  DESCENDS  INTO  THE  ARENA    165 

sound  asleep  in  the  Committee,  and  when  Isaac  D. 
Worthington  saw  that  his  little  arrangement  with  Heth 
Sutton  wasn't  any  good,  and  that  the  people  of  the  state 
didn't  have  anything  more  to  say  about  it  than  the  Crow 
Indians,  and  that  the  end  of  the  session  was  getting  nearer 
and  nearer,  he  got  desperate  and  went  to  Jethro,  I  suppose. 
You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  Jethro  has  agreed  to  put 
the  bill  through." 

"  Then  why  doesn't  he  get  the  Committee  to  report  it 
and  put  it  through  ?  "  asked  Wetherell. 

"  Bless  your  simple  literary  nature,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Merrill,  "Jethro's  got  more  power  than  any  man  in  the 
state,  but  that  isn't  saying  that  he  doesn't  have  to  fight 
occasionally.  He  has  to  fight  now.  He  has  seven  of  the 
twelve  senators  hitched,  and  the  governor.  But  Duncan 
and  Love  joy  have  bought  up  all  the  loose  blocks  of  repre 
sentatives,  and  it  is  supposed  that  the  franchise  forces 
only  control  a  quorum.  The  end  of  the  session  is  a  week 
off,  and. never  in  all  my  experience  have  I  seen  a  more 
praiseworthy  attendance  on  the  part  of  members." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  they  are  being  paid  to  remain  in 
their  seats  ?  "  cried  the  amazed  Mr.  Wetherell. 

"  Well,"  answered  Mr.  Merrill,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  "  that  is  a  little  bald  and  —  and  unparliamentary, 
perhaps,  but  fairly  accurate.  Our  friend  Jethro  is  con 
fronted  with  a  problem  to  tax  even  his  faculties,  and  to 
look  at  him,  a  man  wouldn't  suspect  he  had  a  care  in  the 
world." 

Jethro  was  apparently  quite  as  free  from  anxiety  the 
next  morning  when  he  offered,  after  breakfast,  to  show 
Wetherell  and  Cynthia  the  sights  of  the  town,  though 
Wetherell  could  not  but  think  that  the  Throne  Room  and 
the  Truro  Franchise  Bill  were  left  at  a  very  crucial 
moment  to  take  care  of  themselves.  Jethro  talked  to 
Cynthia  —  or  rather,  Cynthia  talked  to  Jethro  upon 
innumerable  subjects  ;  they  looked  upon  the  statue  of  a 
great  statesman  in  the  park,  and  Cynthia  read  aloud  the 
quotation  graven  on  the  rock  of  the  pedestal,  "The 
People's  Government,  made  for  the  People,  made  by  the 


166  CONTSTON 

People,  and  answerable  to  the  People."  After  that  they 
went  into  the  state  library,  where  Wetherell  was  intro 
duced  to  the  librarian,  Mr.  Storrow.  They  did  not  go 
into  the  State  House  because,  as  everybody  knows,  Jethro 
Bass  never  went  there.  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby  and  other  lieu 
tenants  might  be  seen  in  the  lobbies,  and  the  governor 
might  sign  bills  in  his  own  apartment  there,  but  the  real 
seat  of  government  was  that  Throne  Room  into  which 
we  have  been  permitted  to  enter. 

They  walked  out  beyond  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
where  there  was  a  grove  or  picnic  ground  which  was  also 
used  as  a  park  by  some  of  the  inhabitants.  Jethro  liked 
the  spot,  and  was  in  the  habit  sometimes  of  taking  refuge 
there  when  the  atmosphere  of  the  Pelican  House  became 
too  thick.  The  three  of  them  had  sat  down  on  one  of  the 
board  benches  to  rest,  when  presently  two  people  were 
seen  at  a  little  distance  walking  among  the  trees,  and  the 
sight  of  them,  for  some  reason,  seemed  to  give  Jethro 
infinite  pleasure. 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  Cynthia,  "  one  of  them  is  that  horrid 
girl  everybody  was  looking  at  in  the  dining  room  last  night." 

"  D-don't  like  her,  Cynthy  ?  "  said  Jethro. 

"No,"  said  Cynthia,  "I  don't." 

"  Pretty  —  hain't  she  —  pretty  ?  " 

"  She's  brazen,"  declared  Cynthia. 

It  was,  indeed,  Miss  Cassandra  Hopkins,  daughter  of 
that  Honorable  Alva  who — according  to  Mr.  Bixby  — 
was  all  ready  with  a  certain  sum  of  money  to  be  the  next 
governor.  Miss  Cassandra  was  arrayed  fluffily  in  cool, 
pink  lawn,  and  she  carried  a  fringed  parasol,  and  she  was 
gazing  upward  with  telling  effect  into  the  face  of  the 
gentleman  by  her  side.  This  would  have  all  been  very 
romantic  if  the  gentleman  had  been  young  and  handsome, 
but  he  was  certainly  not  a  man  to  sweep  a  young  girl  off 
her  feet.  He  was  tall,  angular,  though  broad-shouldered, 
with  a  long,  scrawny  neck  that  rose  out  of  a  very  low 
collar,  and  a  large  head,  scantily  covered  with  hair  —  a 
head  that  gave  a  physical  as  well  as  a  mental  effect  of  hard 
ness.  His  smooth-shaven  face  seemed  to  bear  witness  that 


It  was,  indeed,  Miss  Cassandra  Hopkins.' 


167 


168  CONISTON 

its  owner  was  one  who  had  pushed  frugality  to  the  borders 
of  a  vice.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  face,  but  now  it  wore  an 
almost  benign  expression  under  the  influence  of  Miss  Cas 
sandra's  eyes.  So  intent,  apparently,  were  both  of  them 
upon  each  other  that  they  did  not  notice  the  group  on  the 
bench  at  the  other  side  of  the  grove.  William  Wetherell 
ventured  to  ask  Jethro  who  the  man  was. 

"  N-name's  Lovejoy,"  said  Jethro. 

"  Lovejoy ! "  ejaculated  the  storekeeper,  thinking  of 
what  Mr.  Merrill  had  told  him  of  the  opponents  of  the 
Truro  Franchise  Bill.  "  President  of  the  '  Northwestern  ' 
Railroad  ?  "  % 

Jethro  gave  his  friend  a  shrewd  look. 

"  G-gettin'  posted  —  hain't  you,  Will  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Is  she  going  to  marry  that  old  man  ?  "  asked  Cynthia. 

Jethro  smiled  a  little.  "  G-guess  not,';  said  he,  "  guess 
not,  if  the  old  man  can  help  it.  Nobody's  married  him  yet, 
and  hain't  likely  to." 

Jethro  was  unusually  silent  on  the  way  back  to  the  hotel, 
but  he  did  not  seem  to  be  worried  or  displeased.  He  only 
broke  his  silence  once,  in  fact,  when  Cynthia  called  his 
attention  to  a  large  poster  of  some  bloodhounds  on  a  fence, 
announcing  the  fact  in  red  letters  that  "  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin  "  would  be  given  by  a  certain  travelling  company 
at  the  Opera  House  the  next  evening. 

"  L-like  to  go,  Cynthy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Jethro,  do  you  think  we  can  go  ?  " 

"Never  b'en  to  a  show  —  hev  you  —  never  b'en  to  a 
show  ?  " 

"  Never  in  my  life,"  said  Cynthia. 

"We'll  all  go,"  said  Jethro,  and  he  repeated  it  once  or 
twice  as  they  came  to  Main  Street,  seemingly  greatly 
tickled  at  the  prospect.  And  there  was  the  Truro  Fran 
chise  Bill  hanging  over  him,  with  only  a  week  left  of 
the  session,  and  Lovejoy's  and  Duncan's  men  sitting  so 
tight  in  their  seats  !  William  Wetherell  could  not  under, 
stand  it. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN  WHICH  THE  BACK  SEATS  ARE  HEARD  FROM 

HALF  an  hour  later,  when  Mr.  Wetherell  knocked 
timidly  at  Number  7,  —  drawn  thither  by  an  irresistible 
curiosity,  —  the  door  was  opened  by  a  portly  person  who 
wore  a  shining  silk  hat  and  ample  gold  watch  chain. 
The  gentleman  had,  in  fact,  just  arrived ;  but  he  seemed 
perfectly  at  home  as  he  laid  down  his  hat  on  the  marble- 
topped  bureau,  mopped  his  face,  took  a  glass  of  iced  water 
at  a  gulp,  chose  a  cigar,  and  sank  down  gradually  on  the 
bed.  Mr.  Wetherell  recognized  him  instantly  as  the 
father  of  the  celebrated  Cassandra. 

"  Well,  Jethro,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  I've  got  to  come 
into  the  Throne  Room  once  a  day  anyhow,  just  to  make 
sure  you  don't  forget  me  —  eh  ?  " 

"  A- Alvy,"  said  Jethro,  "  I  want  you  to  shake  hands 
with  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  Mr.  Will  Wetherell  of 
Conistoii.  Er  —  Will,  the  Honorable  Alvy  Hopkins  of 
Gosport." 

Mr.  Hopkins  rose  from  the  bed  as  gradually  as  he  had 
sunk  down  upon  it,  and  seized  Mr.  Wetherell's  hand 
impressively.  His  own  was  very  moist. 

"  Heard  you  was  in  town,  Mr.  Wetherell,"  he  said 
heartily.  "  If  Jethro  calls  you  a  particular  friend,  it 
means  something,  I  guess.  It  means  something  to  me, 
anyhow." 

"  Will  hain't  a  politician,"  said  Jethro.     "  Er  —  Alvy  ?  " 

"  Hello  !  "  said  Mr.  Hopkins. 

«Er  —  Will  don't  talk." 

"  If  Jethro  had  been  real  tactful,"  said  the  Honorable 
Alvy,  sinking  down  again,  "  he'd  have  introduced  me  as 

169 


170  CONISTON 

the  next  governor  of  the  state.  Everybody  knows  I  want 
to  be  governor,  everybody  knows  I've  got  twenty  thou 
sand  dollars  in  the  bank  to  pay  for  that  privilege.  Every 
body  knows  I'm  going  to  be  governor  if  Jethro  says  so." 

William  Wetherell  was  a  little  taken  aback  at  this 
ingenuous  statement  of  the  gentleman  from  Gosport.  He 
looked  out  of  the  window  through  the  foliage  of  the  park, 
and  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  monument  there  in  front 
of  the  State  House,  and  he  thought  of  the  inscription  on 
the  base  of  it,  "The  People's  Government."  The  Honor 
able  Alva  had  not  mentioned  the  people  —  undoubtedly. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Wetherell,  twenty  thousand  dollars."  He 
sighed.  "  Time  was  when  a  man  could  be  governor  for 
ten.  Those  were  the  good  old  days  —  eh,  Jethro  ?  " 

"A-Alvy,  'Uncle  Tom's  Cabin's'  comin'  to  town  to 
morrow  —  to-morrow." 

"  You  don't  tell  me,"  said  the  Honorable  Alva,  acquies 
cing  cheerfully  in  the  change  of  subject.  "  We'll  go. 
Pleased  to  have  you,  too,  Mr.  Wetherell." 

"  Alvy,"  said  Jethro,  again,  '"Uncle  Tom's  Cabin'  comes 
to  town  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Hopkins  stopped  fanning  himself,  and  glanced  at 
Jethro  questioningly. 

"  A-Alvy,  that  give  you  an  idea  ?  "  said  Jethro,  mildly. 

Mr.  Wetherell  looked  blank  :  it  gave  him  no  idea  what 
soever,  except  of  little  Eva  and  the  bloodhounds.  For  a 
few  moments  the  Honorable  Alva  appeared  to  be  groping, 
too,  and  then  his  face  began  to  crease  into  a  smile  of  com 
prehension. 

"By  Godfrey,  Jethro,  but  you  are  smart!''  he  ex 
claimed,  with  involuntary  tribute  ;  "  you  mean  buy  up  the 
theatre  ?  " 

"C-callate  you'll  find  it's  bought  up." 

"  You  mean  pay  for  it  ?  "  said  Mr.  Hopkins. 

"  You've  guessed  it,  Alvy,  you've  guessed  it." 

Mr.  Hopkins  gazed  at  him  in  admiration,  leaned  out  of 
the  perpendicular,  and  promptly  drew  from  his  trousers' 
pocket  a  roll  of  stupendous  proportions.  Wetting  his 
thumb,  he  began  to  push  aside  the  top  bills. 


THE  BACK  SEATS  ARE  HEARD  FROM   171 

"  How  much  is  it  ?  "  he  demanded. 

But  Jethro  put  up  his  hand. 

"  No  hurry,  Alvy  —  n-no  hurry.  H-Honorable  Alvy 
Hopkins  of  Gosport  —  p-patron  of  the  theatre. '  Hain't 
the  first  time  you've  b'en  a  patron,  Alvy." 

"  Jethro,"  said  Mr.  Hopkins,  solemnly,  putting  up  his 
money,  "  I'm  much  obliged  to  you.  I'm  free  to  say  I'd 
never  have  thought  of  it.  If  you  ain't  the  all-firedest 
smartest  man  in  America  to-day,  —  I  don't  except  any, 
even  General  Grant,  —  then  I  ain't  the  next  governor  of 
this  state." 

Whereupon  he  lapsed  into  an  even  more  expressive 
silence,  his  face  still  glowing. 

"  Er  —  Alvy,"  said  Jethro.  presently,  "what's  the  name 
of  your  gal  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Hopkins,  "  I  guess  you've  got  me. 
We  did  christen  her  Lily,  but  she  didn't  turn  out  exactly 
Lily.  She  ain't  the  type,"  said  Mr.  Hopkins,  slowly,  not 
without  a  note  of  regret,  and  lapsed  into  silence. 

"  W-what  did  you  say  her  name  was,  Alvy  ?  " 

"I  guess  her  name's  Cassandra,"  said  the  Honorable 
Alva. 

"C-Cassandry?" 

"  Well,  you  see,"  he  explained  a  trifle  apologetically, 
"  she's  kind  of  taken  some  matters  in  her  own  hands,  my 
gal.  Didn't  like  Lily,  and  it  didn't  seem  to  fit  her 
anyway,  so  she  called  herself  Cassandra.  Read  it  in.  a 
book.  It  means,  '  inspirer  of  love,'  or  some  such  poetry  , 
but  I  don't  deny  that  it  goes  with  her  better  than  Lily 
would." 

"Sh-she's  a  good  deal  of  a  gal,  Alvy — fine-appearin' 
gal,  Alvy." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Jethro,  I  didn't  know  you  ever  looked 
at  a  woman.  But  I  suppose  you  couldn't  help  lookin'  at 
my  gal  —  she  does  seem  to  draw  men's  eyes  as  if  she  was 
magnetized  some  way."  Mr.  Hopkins  did  not  speak  as 
though  this  quality  of  his  daughter  gave  him  unmixed 
delight.  "  But  she's  a  good-hearted  gal,  Gassy  is,  high- 
spirited,  and  I  won't  deny  she's  handsome  and  smart. 


172  CONISTON 

She'll  kind  of  grace  my  position  when  I'm  governor.  But 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  Jethro,  one  old  friend  to  another, 
durned  if  I  don't  wish  she  was  married.  It's  a  terrible 
thinqr  for  a  father  to  say,  I  know,  but  I'd  feel  easier  about 
her  if  she  was  married  to  some  good  man  who  could  hold 
her.  There's  young  Joe  Turner  in  Gosport,  he'd  give  his 
soul  to  have  her,  and  he'd  do.  Gassy  says  she's  after  bigger 
game  than  Joe.  She's  young  —  that's  her  only  excuse. 
Funny  thing  happened  night  before  last,"  continued  Mr. 
Hopkins,  laughing.  "  Lovejoy  saw  her,  and  he's  b'en  out  of 
his  head  ever  since.  Al  must  be  pretty  near  my  age, 
ain't  he  ?  Well,  there's  no  fool  like  an  old  fool." 

"  A-Alvy  —  introduce  me  to  Cassandry  sometime  — 
will  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly,"  answered  Mr.  Hopkins,  heartily,  "  I'll 
bring  her  in  here.  And  now  how  about  gettin'  an  ad 
journment  to-morrow  night  for  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  '  ? 
These  night  sessions  kind  of  interfere." 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  the  representatives  were  pour 
ing  into  the  rotunda  for  dinner,  a  crowd  was  pressing 
thickly  around  the  desk  to  read  a  placard  pinned  on  the 
wall  above  it.  The  placard  announced  the  coming  of  Mr. 
Glover's  Company  for  the  following  night,  and  that  the 
Honorable  Alva  Hopkins  of  Gosport,  ex-Speaker  of  the 
House,  had  bought  three  hundred  and  twelve  seats  for  the 
benefit  of  the  members.  And  the  Honorable  Alva  him 
self,  very  red  in  the  face  and  almost  smothered,  could  be 
dimly  discerned  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  trying  to  fight 
his  way  out  of  a  group  of  over-enthusiastic  friends  and 
admirers.  Alva  —  so  it  was  said  on  all  sides  —  was  doing 
the  right  thing. 

So  it  was  that  one  sensation  followed  another  at  the 
capital,  and  the  politicans  for  the  moment  stopped  buzzing 
over  the  Truro  Franchise  Bill  to  discuss  Mr.  Hopkins  and 
his  master-stroke.  The  afternoon  Chronicle  waxed  enthu 
siastic  on  the  subject  of  Mr.  Hopkins's  generosity,  and 
predicted  that,  when  Senator  Hartington  made  the  motion 
in  the  upper  house  and  Mr.  Jameson  in  the  lower,  the 
General  Court  would  unanimously  agree  that  there  would 


THE  BACK  SEATS  AKE  HEAKD  FKOM        173 

be  no  evening  session  on  the  following  day.  The  Honor 
able  Alva  was  the  hero  of  the  hour. 

That  afternoon  Cynthia  and  her  father  walked  through 
the  green  park  to  make  their  first  visit  to  the  State  House. 
They  stood  hand  in  hand  on  the  cool,  marble-paved  floor 
of  the  corridor,  gazing  silently  at  the  stained  and  battered 
battle-flags  behind  the  glass,  and  Wetherell  seemed  to  be 
listening  again  to  the  appeal  of  a  great  President  to  a 
great  Country  in  the  time  of  her  dire  need  —  the  soul 
calling  on  the  body  to  fight  for  itself.  Wetherell  seemed 
to  feel  again  the  thrill  he  felt  when  he  saw  the  blue-clad 
men  of  this  state  crowded  in  the  train  at  Boston :  and 
to  hear  again  the  cheers,  and  the  sobs,  and  the  prayers 
as  he  looked  upon  the  blood  that  stained  stars  and  stripes 
alike  with  a  holy  stain.  With  that  blood  the  country 
had  been  consecrated,  and  the  state  —  yes,  and  the 
building  where  they  stood.  So  they  went  on  up  the 
stairs,  reverently,  nor  heeded  the  noise  of  those  in  groups 
about  them,  and  through  a  door  into  the  great  hall  of  the 
representatives  of  the  state. 

Life  is  a  mixture  of  emotions,  a  jumble  of  joy  and  sor 
row  and  reverence  and  mirth  and  flippancy,  of  right  feel 
ing  and  heresy.  In  the  morning  William  Wetherell  had 
laughed  at  Mr.  Hopkins  and  the  twenty  thousand  dollars 
he  had  put  in  the  bank  to  defraud  the  people ;  but  now 
he  could  have  wept  over  it,  and  as  he  looked  down 
upon  the  three  hundred  members  of  that  House,  he  won 
dered  how  many  of  them  represented  their  neighbors  who 
supposedly  had  sent  them  here — and  how  many  Mr.  Love- 
joy's  railroad,  Mr.  Worthington's  railroad,  or  another  man's 
railroad. 

But  gradually  he  forgot  the  battle-flags,  and  his  mood 
changed.  Perhaps  the  sight  of  Mr.  Speaker  Sutton  tow 
ering  above  the  House,  the  very  essence  and  bulk  of 
authority,  brought  this  about.  He  aroused  in  Wetherell 
unwilling  admiration  and  envy  when  he  arose  to  put  a 
question  in  his  deep  voice,  or  rapped  sternly  with  his  gavel 
to  silence  the  tumult  of  voices  that  arose  from  time  to 
time ;  or  while  some  member  was  speaking,  or  the  clerk 


174  CONISTON 

was  reading  a  bill  at  breathless  speed,  he  turned  with 
wonderful  nonchalance  to  listen  to  the  conversation  of  the 
gentlemen  on  the  bench  beside  him,  smiled,  nodded,  pulled 
his  whiskers,  at  once  conscious  and  unconscious  of  his  high 
position.  And,  most  remarkable  of  all  to  the  storekeeper, 
not  a  man  of  the  three  hundred,  however  obscure,  could 
rise  that  the  Speaker  did  not  instantly  call  him  by  name. 

William  Wetherell  was  occupied  by  such  reflections  as 
these  when  suddenly  there  fell  a  hush  through  the  House. 
The  clerk  had  stopped  reading,  the  Speaker  had  stopped 
conversing,  and,  seizing  his  gavel,  looked  expectantly  over 
the  heads  of  the  members  and  nodded.  A  sleek,  com 
fortably  dressed  man  arose  smilingly  in  the  middle  of  the 
House,  and  subdued  laughter  rippled  from  seat  to  seat  as 
he  addressed  the  chair. 

"Mr.  Jameson  of  Wantage." 

Mr.  Jameson  cleared  his  throat  impressively  and  looked 
smilingly  about  him. 

"Mr.  Speaker  and  gentlemen  of  the  House,"  he  said, 
"  if  I  desired  to  arouse  the  enthusiasm  —  the  just  enthu 
siasm  —  of  any  gathering  in  this  House,  or  in  this  city,  or 
in  this  state,  I  should  mention  the  name  of  the  Honorable 
Alva  Hopkins  of  Gosport.  I  think  I  am  right." 

Mr.  Jameson  was  interrupted,  as  he  no  doubt  expected, 
by  applause  from  floor  and  gallery.  He  stood  rubbing  his 
hands  together,  and  it  seemed  to  William  Wetherell  that 
the  Speaker  did  not  rap  as  sharply  with  his  gavel  as  he 
had  upon  other  occasions. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  House,"  continued  Mr.  Jameson, 
presently,  "  the  Honorable  Alva  Hopkins,  whom  we  all 
know  and  love,  has  with  unparalleled  generosity  —  un 
paralleled,  I  say  —  bought  up  three  hundred  and  twelve 
seats  in  Foster's  Opera  House  for  to-morrow  night " 
(renewed  applause),  "  in  order  that  every  member  of  this 
august  body  may  have  the  opportunity  to  witness  that  most 
classic  of  histrionic  productions,  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.' ' 
(Loud  applause,  causing  the  Speaker  to  rap  sharply.) 
"That  we  may  show  a  proper  appreciation  of  this  compli 
ment,  I  move  you,  Mr.  Speaker,  that  the  House  adjourn 


THE  BACK  SEATS  ARE  HEARD  FROM        175 

not  later  than  six  o'clock  to-morrow,  Wednesday  evening, 
not  to  meet  again  until  Thursday  morning." 

Mr.  Jameson  of  Wantage  handed  the  resolution  to  a 
page  and  sat  down  amidst  renewed  applause.  Mr.  Weth- 
erell  noticed  that  many  members  turned  in  their  seats  as 
they  clapped,  and  glancing  along  the  gallery  he  caught  a 
flash  of  red  and  perceived  the  radiant  Miss  Cassandra  her 
self  leaning  over  the  rail,  her  hands  clasped  in  ecstasy. 
Mr.  Lovejoy  was  not  with  her  —  he  evidently  preferred 
to  pay  his  attentions  in  private. 

"  There  she  is  again,"  whispered  Cynthia,  who  had 
taken  an  instinctive  and  extraordinary  dislike  to  Miss 
Cassandra.  Then  Mr.  Sutton  rose  majestically  to  put  the 
question. 

"  Gentlemen,  are  you  ready  for  the  question  ?  "  he  cried. 
"  All  those  in  favor  of  the  resolution  of  the  gentleman  from 
Wantage,  Mr.  Jameson  —  "  the  Speaker  stopped  abruptly. 
The  legislators  in  the  front  seats  swung  around,  and  peo 
ple  in  the  gallery  craned  forward  to  see  a  member  standing 
at  his  seat  in  the  extreme  rear  of  the  hall.  He  was  a  little 
man  in  an  ill-fitting  coat,  his  wizened  face  clean-shaven 
save  for  the  broom-shaped  beard  under  his  chin,  which  he 
now  held  in  his  hand.  His  thin,  nasal  voice  was  some 
how  absurdly  penetrating  as  he  addressed  the  chair.  Mr. 
Sutton  was  apparently,  for  once,  taken  by  surprise,  and 
stared  a  moment,  as  though  racking  his  brain  for  the 
name. 

"  The  gentleman  from  Suffolk,  Mr.  Heath,"  he  said,  and 
smiling  a  little,  sat  down. 

The  gentleman  from  Suffolk,  still  holding  on  to  his  beard, 
pitched  in  without  preamble. 

"  We  farmers  on  the  back  seats  don't  often  git  a  chance 
to  be  heard,  Mr.  Speaker,"  said  he,  amidst  a  general  titter 
ing  from  the  front  seats.  "  We  come  down  here  without 
any  1'arnin'  of  parli'ment'ry  law,  and  before  we  know 
what's  happened  the  session's  over,  and  we  hain't  said 
nothin'."  (More  laughter.)  "There's  b'en  a  good  many 
times  when  I  wanted  to  say  somethin',  and  this  time  I 
made  up  my  mind  I  was  a-goin'  to  —  law  or  no  law." 


176  CONISTON 

(Applause,  and  a  general  show  of  interest  in  the  gentle 
man  from  Suffolk.)  "Naow,  Mr.  Speaker,  I  hain't  ag'in' 
'  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.'  It's  a  good  play,  and  it's  done  an 
almighty  lot  of  good.  And  I  hain't  sayin'  nothin'  ag'in' 
Alvy  Hopkins  nor  his  munificence.  But  I  do  know 
there's  a  sight  of  little  bills  on  that  desk  that  won't  be 
passed  if  we  don't  set  to-morrow  night  —  little  bills  that 
are  big  bills  for  us  farmers.  That  thar  woodchuck  bill, 
for  one."  (Laughter.)  "  My  constituents  want  I  should 
have  that  bill  passed.  We  don't  need  a  quorum  for  them 
bills,  but  we  need  time.  Naow,  Mr.  Speaker,  I  say  let  all 
them  that  wants  to  go  and  see  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin '  go  and 
see  it,  but  let  a  few  of  us  fellers  that  has  woodchuck  bills 
and  other  things  that  we've  got  to  git  through  come  down 
here  and  pass  'em.  You  kin  put  'em  on  the  docket,  and  I 
guess  if  anything  comes  along  that  hain't  jest  right  for 
everybody,  somebody  can  challenge  a  quorum  and  bust  up 
the  session.  That's  all." 

The  gentleman  from  Suffolk  sat  down  amidst  thunder 
ous  applause,  and  before  it  died  away  Mr.  Jameson  was  on 
his  feet,  smiling  and  rubbing  his  hands  together,  and  was 
recognized. 

"  Mr.  Speaker,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  could  be  heard, 
"  if  the  gentleman  from  Suffolk  desires  to  pass  woodchuck 
bills  "  (renewed  laughter),  "  he  can  do  so  as  far  as  I'm 
concerned.  I  guess  I  know  where  most  of  the  members  of 
this  House  will  be  to-morrow  night  — "  (Cries  of  'You're 
right,'  and  sharp  rapping  of  the  gavel.)  "  Mr.  Speaker, 
I  withdraw  my  resolution." 

"  The  gentleman  from  Wantage,"  said  the  Speaker, 
smiling  broadly  now,  "withdraws  his  resolution." 

As  William  Wetherell  was  returning  to  the  Pelican 
House,  pondering  over  this  incident,  he  almost  ran  into  a 
distinguished-looking  man  walking  briskly  across  Main 
Street. 

"  It  was  Mr.  Worthington  !  "  said  Cynthia,  looking  after 
him. 

But  Mr.  Worthington  had  a  worried  look  on  his  face, 
and  was  probably  too  much  engrossed  in  his  own  thoughts 


THE  BACK  SEATS  ARE  HEARD  FROM         177 

to  notice  his  acquaintances.  He  had,  in  fact,  just  come 
from  the  Throne  Room,  where  he  had  been  to  remind  Jethro 
that  the  session  was  almost  over,  and  to  ask  him  what  he 
meant  to  do  about  the  Truro  Bill.  Jethro  had  given 
him  no  satisfaction. 

"  Duncan  and  Lovejoy  have  their  people  paid  to  sit 
there  night  and  day,"  Mr.  Worthington  had  said.  "  We've 
got  a  bare  majority  on  a  full  House;  but  you  don't  seem  to 
dare  to  risk  it.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  Mr. 
Bass  ?  " 

"  W-want  the  bill  to  pass — ,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  Mr.  Worthington  had  cried,  on  the  edge  of 
losing  his  temper. 

"  L-left  it  to  me  —  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I'm  entitled  to  know  what's  being  done.  I'm 
paying  for  it." 

"  H-hain't  paid  for  it  yet  —  hev  you  ?  " 

"No,  I  most  assuredly  haven't." 

"B-better  wait  till  you  do." 

There  was  very  little  satisfaction  in  this,  and  Mr. 
Worthington  had  at  length  been  compelled  to  depart, 
fuming,  to  the  house  of  his  friend  the  enemy,  Mr.  Duncan, 
there  to  attempt  for  the  twentieth  time  to  persuade  Mr. 
Duncan  to  call  off  his  dogs  who  were  sitting  with  such 
praiseworthy  pertinacity  in  their  seats.  As  the  two 
friends  walked  on  the  lawn,  Mr.  Worthington  tried  to 
explain,  likewise  for  the  twentieth  time,  that  the  exten 
sion  of  the  Truro  Railroad  could  in  no  way  lessen  the 
Canadian  traffic  of  the  Central,  Mr.  Duncan's  road.  But 
Mr.  Duncan  could  not  see  it  that  way,  and  stuck  to  his 
present  ally,  Mr.  Lovejoy,  and  refused  point  blank  to  call 
off  his  dogs.  Business  was  business. 

It  is  an  apparently  inexplicable  fact,  however,  that  Mr. 
Worthington  a*nd  his  son  Bob  were  guests  at  the  Duncan 
mansion  at  the  capital.  Two  countries  may  not  be  allies, 
but  their  sovereigns  may  be  friends.  In  the  present  in 
stance,  Mr.  Duncan  and  Mr.  Worthington's  railroads  were 
opposed,  diplomatically,  but  another  year  might  see  the 
Truro  Railroad  and  the  Central  acting  as  one.  And  Mr. 


178  CONISTON 

Worthington  had  no  intention  whatever  of  sacrificing  Mr. 
Duncan's  friendship.  The  first  citizen  of  Brampton  pos 
sessed  one  quality  so  essential  to  greatness  —  that  of  look 
ing  into  the  future,  and  he  believed  that  the  time  would 
come  when  an  event  of  some  importance  might  create  a 
perpetual  alliance  between  himself  and  Mr.  Duncan.  In 
short,  Mr.  Duncan  had  a  daughter,  Janet,  and  Mr.  Worth 
ington,  as  we  know,  had  a  son.  And  Mr.  Duncan,  in 
addition  to  his  own  fortune,  had  married  one  of  the  richest 
heiresses  in  New  England.  Prudens  futuri,  that  was  Mr. 
Worthington's  motto. 

The  next  morning  Cynthia,  who  was  walking  about  the 
town  alone,  found  herself  gazing  over  a  picket  fence  at  a 
great  square  house  with  a  very  wide  cornice  that  stood  by 
itself  in  the  centre  of  a  shade-flecked  lawn.  There  were 
masses  of  shrubbery  here  and  there,  and  a  greenhouse,  and  a 
latticed  summer-house:  and  Cynthia  was  wondering  what 
it  would  be  like  to  live  in  a  great  place  like  that,  when  a 
barouche  with  two  shining  horses  in  silver  harness  drove 
past  her  and  stopped  before  the  gate.  Four  or  five  girls 
and  boys  came  laughing  out  on  the  porch,  and  one  of  them, 
who  held  a  fishing-rod  in  his  hand,  Cynthia  recognized. 
Startled  and  ashamed,  she  began  to  walk  on  as  fast  as  she 
could  in  the  opposite  direction,  when  she  heard  the  sound 
of  footsteps  on  the  lawn  behind  her,  and  her  own  name 
called  in  a  familiar  voice.  At  that  she  hurried  the  faster ; 
but  she  could  not  run,  and  the  picket  fence  was  half 
a  block  long,  and  Bob  Worthington  had  an  advantage  over 
her.  Of  course  it  was  Bob,  and  he  did  not  scruple  to  run, 
and  in  a  few  seconds  he  was  leaning  over  the  fence  in  front 
of  her.  Now  Cynthia  was  as  red  as  a  peony  by  this  time, 
and  she  almost  hated  him. 

"  Well,  of  all  people,  Cynthia  Wetherell  I  "  he  cried ; 
"  didn't  you  hear  me  calling  after  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  Why  didn't  you  stop  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  want  to,"  said  Cynthia,  glancing  at  the  distant 
group  on  the  porch,  who  were  watching  them.  Suddenly 
she  turned  to  him  defiantly.  "  I  didn't  know  you  were  in 
that  house,  or  in  the  capital,"  she  said. 


THE   BACK   SEATS   ARE  HEAKD  FROM        179 

"  And  I  didn't  know  you  were,"  said  Bob,  upon  whose 
masculine  intelligence  the  meaning  of  her  words  was 
entirely  lost.  "  If  I  had  known  it,  you  can  bet  I  would 
have  looked  you  up.  Where  are  you  staying  ?  " 

"At  the  Pelican  House." 

"  What!  "  said  Bob,  "  with  all  the  politicians  ?  How  did 
you  happen  to  go  there  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Bass  asked  my  father  and  me  to  come  down  for  a 
few  days,"  answered  Cynthia,  her  color  heightening  again. 
Life  is  full  of  contrasts,  and  Cynthia  was  becoming  aware 
of  some  of  them. 

"  Uncle  Jethro  ?  "  said  Bob. 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Jethro,"  said  Cynthia,  smiling  in  spite  of 
herself.  He  always  made  her  smile. 

"  Uncle  Jethro  owns  the  Pelican  House,"  said  Bob. 

"  Does  he  ?  I  knew  he  was  a  great  man,  but  I  didn't 
know  how  great  he  was  until  I  came  down  here." 

Cynthia  said  this  so  innocently  that  Bob  repented  his 
flippancy  on  the  spot.  He  had  heard  occasional  remarks 
of  his  elders  about  Jethro. 

"I  didn't  mean  quite  that,"  he  said,  growing  red  in 
his  turn.  "Uncle  Jethro  —  Mr.  Bass  —  is  a  great  man  — 
of  course.  That's  what  I  meant." 

"  And  he's  a  very  good  man,"  said  Cynthia,  who  under 
stood  now  that  he  had  spoken  a  little  lightly  of  Jethro, 
and  resented  it. 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  Bob,  eagerly.  Then  Cynthia 
began  to  walk  on,  slowly,  and  he  followed  her  on  the  other 
side  of  the  fence.  "  Hold  on,"  he  cried,  "  I  haven't  said 
half  the  things  I  want  to  say  —  yet." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  say  ?  "  asked  Cynthia,  still 
walking.  "I  have  to  go." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  don't !   Wait  just  a  minute  —  won't  you  ?  " 

Cynthia  halted,  with  apparent  unwillingness,  and  put 
out  her  toe  between  the  pickets.  Then  she  saw  that 
there  was  a  little  patch  on  that  toe,  and  drew  it  in  again. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  say  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  I  don't 
believe  you  have  anything  to  say  at  all."  And  suddenly 
she  flashed  a  look  at  him  that  made  his  heart  thump. 


180  CONISTON" 

"I  do  —  I  swear  I  do,"  he  protested.  "  I'm  coming 
down  to  the  Pelican  to-morrow  morning  to  get  you  to 
go  for  a  walk." 

Cynthia  could  not  but  think  that  the  remoteness  of 
the  time  he  set  was  scarce  in  keeping  with  his  ardent 
tone. 

"  I  have  something  else  to  do  to-morrow  morning," 
she  answered. 

"  Then  I'll  come  to-morrow  afternoon,"  said  Bob,  in- 
stantly. 

"  Who  lives  here  ?  "  she  asked  irrelevantly. 

"  Mr.  Duncan.     I'm  visiting  the  Duncans." 

At  this  moment  a  carryall  joined  the  carriage  at  the 
gate.  Cynthia  glanced  at  the  porch  again.  The  group 
there  had  grown  larger,  and  they  were  still  staring. 
She  began  to  feel  uncomfortable  again,  and  moved  on 
slowly. 

"  Mayn't  I  come  ?  "  asked  Bob,  going  after  her,  and 
scraping  the  butt  of  the  rod  along  the  palings. 

"Aren't  there  enough  girls  here  to  satisfy  you  ?  "  asked 
Cynthia. 

"  They're  enough  —  yes,"  he  said,  "  but  none  of  'em 
could  hold  a  candle  to  you." 

Cynthia  laughed  outright. 

"I  believe  you  tell  them  all  something  like  that," 
she  said. 

"  I  don't  do  any  such  thing,"  he  retorted,  and  then  he 
laughed  himself,  and  Cynthia  laughed  again. 

"  I  like  you  because  you  don't  swallow  everything 
whole,"  said  Bob,  "  and  —  well,  for  a  good  many  other 
reasons."  And  he  looked  into  her  face  with  such  frank 
admiration  that  Cynthia  blushed  and  turned  away. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say,"  she  answered,  and 
started  to  walk  off,  this  time  in  earnest. 

"  Hold  on,"  cried  Bob.  They  were  almost  at  the  end 
of  the  fence  by  this,  and  the  pickets  were  sharp  and 
rather  high,  or  he  would  have  climbed  them. 

Cynthia  paused  hesitatingly. 

"  I'll  come  at  two  o'clock  to-morrow,"  said  he ;  "  we're 


THE  BACK  SEATS  ARE  HEARD  FROM    181 

going  on  a  picnic  to-day,  to  Dalton's  Bend,  on  the  river, 
I  wish  I  could  get  out  of  it." 

Just  then  there  came  a  voice  from  the  gateway, 

"  Bob  !  Bob  Worthington  !  " 

They  both  turned  involuntarily.  A  slender  girl  with 
light  brown  hair  was  standing  there,  waving  at  him. 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  asked  Cynthia. 

"  That  ? "  said  Bob,  in  some  confusion,  "  oh,  that's 
Janet  Duncan." 

"Good-by,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  I'm  coming  to-morrow,"  he  called  after  her,  but  she 
did  not  turn.  In  a  little  while  she  heard  the  carryall 
behind  her  clattering  down  the  street,  its  passengers 
laughing  and  joking  merrily.  Her  face  burned,  for  she 
thought  that  they  were  laughing  at  her ;  she  wished  with 
all  her  heart  that  she  had  not  stopped  to  talk  with  him 
at  the  palings.  The  girls,  indeed,  were  giggling  as  the 
carryall  passed,  and  she  heard  somebody  call  out  his  name, 
but  nevertheless  he  leaned  out  of  the  seat  and  waved  his 
hat  at  her,  amid  a  shout  of  laughter.  Poor  Cynthia  ! 
She  did  not  look  at  him.  Tears  of  vexation  were  in  her 
eyes,  and  the  light  of  her  joy  at  this  visit  to  the  capital 
flickered,  and  she  wished  she  were  back  in  Coniston.  She 
thought  it  would  be  very  nice  to  be  rich,  and  to  live  in  a 
great  house  in  a  city,  and  to  go  on  picnics. 

The  light  flickered,  but  it  did  not  wholly  go  out..  If  it 
has  not  been  shown  that  Cynthia  was  endowed  with  a 
fair  amount  of  sense,  many  of  these  pages  have  been 
written  in  vain.  She  sat  down  for  a  while  in  the  park 
and  thought  of  the  many  things  she  had  to  be  thankful 
for  —  not  the  least  of  which  was  Jethro's  kindness.  And 
she  remembered  that  she  was  to  see  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  " 
that  evening. 

Such  are  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  fifteen  I 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE   WOODCHUCK  SESSION 

MB.  AMOS  CUTHBERT  named  it  so  —  our  old  friend 
Amos  who  lives  high  up  in  the  ether  of  Town's  End 
ridge,  and  who  now  represents  Coniston  in  the  Legisla 
ture.  He  is  the  same  silent,  sallow  person  as  when  Jethro 
first  took  a  mortgage  on  his  farm,  only  his  skin  is  begin 
ning  to  resemble  dried  parchment,  and  he  is  a  trifle  more 
cantankerous.  On  the  morning  of  that  memorable  day 
when  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin "  came  to  the  capital,  Amos 
had  entered  the  Throne  Room  and  given  vent  to  his 
feelings  in  regard  to  the  gentleman  in  the  back  seat 
who  had  demanded  an  evening  sitting  on  behalf  of  the 
farmers. 

"  Don't  that  beat  all  !  "  cried  Amos.  "  Let  them  have 
their  darned  woodchuck  session  ;  there  won't  nobody  go 
to  it.  For  cussed,  crisscross  contrariness,  give  me  a 
moss-back  Democrat  from  a  one-hoss,  one-man  town  like 
Suffolk.  I'm  a-goin'  to  see  the  show." 

"  G-goin'  to  the  show,  be  you,  Amos  ?  "  said  Jethro. 

"  Yes,  I  be,"  answered  Amos,  bitterly.  "  I  hain't  a- 
goin'  nigh  the  house  to-night."  And  with  this  declaration 
he  departed. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  really  is  going  ?  "  queried  Mr.  Merrill, 
looking  at  the  ceiling.  And  then  he  laughed. 

"  Why  shouldn't  he  go  ?  "  asked  William  Wetherell. 

Mr.  Merrill's  answer  to  this  question  was  a  wink, 
whereupon  he,  too,  departed.  And  while  Wetherell  was 
pondering  over  the  possible  meaning  of  these  words  the 
Honorable  Alva  Hopkins  entered,  wreathed  in  smiles, 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

182 


THE  WOODCHUCK  SESSION 

"  It's  all  fixed,"  he  said,  taking  a  seat  near  Jethro  in  the 
window. 

"  S-seen  your  gal  —  Alvy  —  seen  your  gal  ?  " 

Mr.  Hopkins  gave  a  glance  at  Wetherell. 

"  Will  don't  talk,"  said  Jethro,  and  resumed  his  inspec 
tion  through  the  lace  curtains  of  what  was  going  on  in 
the  street. 

"  Cassandry's  got  him  to  go,"  said  Mr.  Hopkins.  "  It's 
all  fixed,  as  sure  as  Sunday.  If  it  misses  fire,  then  I'll 
never  mention  the  governorship  again.  But  if  it  don't 
miss  fire,"  and  the  Honorable  Alva  leaned  over  and  put 
his  hand  on  Jethro's  knee,  "  if  it  don't  miss  fire,  I  get  the 
nomination.  Is  that  right  ?  " 

"  Y-you've  guessed  it,  Alvy." 

"  That's  all  I  want  to  know,"  declared  the  Honorable 
Alva  ;  "  when  you  say  that  much,  you  never  go  back  on  it. 
And  you  can  go  ahead  and  give  the  orders,  Jethro.  I 
have  to  see  that  the  boys  get  the  tickets.  Cassandry's 
got  a  head  on  her  shoulders,  and  she  kind  of  wants  to  be 
governor,  too."  He  got  as  far  as  the  door,  when  he 
turned  and  bestowed  upon  Jethro  a  glance  of  undoubted 
tribute.  "  You've  done  a  good  many  smart  things,"  said 
he,  "  but  I  guess  you  never  beat  this,  and  never  will." 

"  H-hain't  done  it  yet,  Alvy,"  answered  Jethro,  still 
looking  out  through  the  window  curtains  at  the  ever 
changing  groups  of  gentlemen  in  the  street.  These 
groups  had  a  never  ceasing  interest  for  Jethro  Bass. 

Mr.  Wetherell  didn't  talk,  but  had  he  been  the  most 
incurable  of  gossips  he  felt  that  he  could  have  done  no 
damage  to  this  mysterious  affair,  whatever  it  was.  In  a 
certain  event,  Mr.  Hopkins  was  promised  the  governor 
ship  :  so  much  was  plain.  And  it  was  also  evident  that 
Miss  Cassandra  Hopkins  was  in  some  way  to  be  instru 
mental.  William  Wetherell  did  not  like  to  ask  Jethro, 
but  he  thought  a  little  of  sounding  Mr.  Merrill,  and 
then  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  wiser  for 
him  not  to  know. 

"  Er  —  Will,"  said  Jethro,  presently,  "  you  know  Heth 
Sutton  —  Speaker  Heth  Sutton  ?  " 


184  CONISTON 

"Yes." 

"  Er  —  wouldn't  mind  askin'  him  to  step  in  and  see  me 
before  the  session  —  if  he  was  comin'  by  —  would  you  ?  " 

"Certainly  not." 

"  Er  —  if  he  was  comin'  by,"  said  Jethro. 

Mr.  Wetherell  found  Mr.  Speaker  Sutton  glued  to  a 
pillar  in  the  rotunda  below.  He  had  some  difficulty  in 
breaking  through  the  throng  that  pressed  around  him, 
and  still  more  in  attracting  his  attention,  as  Mr.  Sutton 
took  no  manner  of  notice  of  the  customary  form  of  placing 
one's  hand  under  his  elbow  and  pressing  gently  up. 
Summoning  up  his  courage,  Mr.  Wetherell  tried  the  sec 
ond  method  of  seizing  him  by  the  buttonhole.  He  paused 
in  his  harangue,  one  hand  uplifted,  and  turned  and  glanced 
at  the  storekeeper  abstractedly. 

"  Mr.  Bass  asked  me  to  tell  you  to  drop  into  Number  7," 
said  Wetherell,  and  added,  remembering  express  instruc 
tions,  "if  you  were  going  by." 

Wetherell  had  not  anticipated  the  magical  effect  this 
casual  message  would  have  on  Mr.  Sutton,  nor  had  he 
thought  that  so  large  and  dignified  a  body  would  move 
so  rapidly.  Before  the  astonished  gentlemen  who  had 
penned  him  in  could  draw  a  breath,  Mr.  Sutton  had  reached 
the  stairway  and  was  mounting  it  with  an  agility  that 
did  him  credit.  Five  minutes  later  Wetherell  saw  the 
Speaker  descending  again,  the  usually  impressive  quality 
of  his  face  slightly  modified  by  the  twitching  of  a  smile. 

Thus  the  day  passed,  and  the  gentlemen  of  the  Love  joy 
and  Duncan  factions  sat  as  tight  as  ever  in  their  seats, 
and  the  Truro  Franchise  bill  still  slumbered  undisturbed 
in  Mr.  Chauncey  Weed's  committee. 

At  supper  there  was  a  decided  festal  air  about  the  din 
ing  room  of  the  Pelican  House,  the  little  band  of  agri 
cultural  gentlemen  who  wished  to  have  a  session  not  being 
patrons  of  that  exclusive  hotel.  Many  of  the  Solons  had 
sent  home  for  their  wives,  that  they  might  do  the  utmost 
justice  to  the  Honorable  Alva's  hospitality.  Even  Jethro, 
as  he  ate  his  crackers  and  milk,  had  a  new  coat  with  bright 
brass  buttons,  and  Cynthia,  who  wore  a  fresh  gingham 


THE  WOODCHUCK  SESSION  186 

which  Miss  Sukey  Kittredge  of  Coniston  had  helped  to  de 
sign,  so  far  relented  in  deference  to  Jethro's  taste  as  to 
tie  a  red  bow  at  her  throat. 

The  middle  table  under  the  chandelier  was  the  imme 
diate  firmament  of  Miss  Cassandra  Hopkins.  And  there, 
beside  the  future  governor,  sat  the  president  of  the 
"Northwestern"  Railroad,  Mr.  Lovejoy,  as  the  chief  of 
the  revolving  satellites.  People  began  to  say  that  Mr. 
Lovejoy  was  hooked  at  last,  now  that  he  had  lost  his  head 
in  such  an  unaccountable  fashion  as  to  pay  his  court  in 
public;  and  it  was  very  generally  known  that  he  was  to 
make  one  of  the  Honorable  Alva's  immediate  party  at  the 
performance  of  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin." 

Mr.  Speaker  Sutton,  of  course,  would  have  to  forego  the 
pleasure  of  the  theatre  as  a  penalty  of  his  high  position. 
Mr.  Merrill,  who  sat  at  Jethro's  table  next  to  Cynthia 
that  evening,  did  a  great  deal  of  joking  with  the  Honor 
able  Heth  about  having  to  preside  over  a  woodchuck  ses 
sion,  which  the  Speaker,  so  Mr.  Wetherell  thought,  took 
in  astonishingly  good  part,  and  seemed  very  willing  to 
make  the  great  sacrifice  which  his  duty  required  of  him. 

After  supper  Mr.  Wetherell  took  a  seat  in  the  rotunda. 
As  an  observer  of  human  nature,  he  had  begun  to  find  a 
fascination  in  watching  the  group  of  politicians  there.  First 
of  all  he  encountered  Mr.  Amos  Cuthbert,  his  little  coal- 
black  eyes  burning  brightly,  and  he  was  looking  very 
irritable  indeed. 

"  So  you're  going  to  the  show,  Amos  ?  "  remarked  the 
storekeeper,  with  an  attempt  at  cordiality. 

To  his  bewilderment,  Amos  turned  upon  him  fiercely. 

"  Who  said  I  was  going  to  the  show  ?  "  he  snapped. 

"You  yourself  told  me." 

"  You'd  ought  to  know  whether  I'm  a-goin'  or  not," 
said  Amos,  and  walked  away. 

While  Mr.  Wetherell  sat  meditating  upon  this  inex 
plicable  retort,  a  retired,  scholarly  looking  gentleman  with 
a  white  beard,  who  wore  spectacles,  came  out  of  the  door 
leading  from  the  barber  shop  and  quietly  took  a  seat  be 
side  him.  The  storekeeper's  attention  was  next  distracted 


186  CONISTON 

by  the  sight  of  one  who  wandered  slowly  but  ceaselessly 
from  group  to  group,  kicking  up  his  heels  behind,  and 
halting  always  in  the  rear  of  the  speakers.  Needless  to 
say  that  this  was  our  friend  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby,  who  was 
following  out  his  celebrated  tactics  of  "going  along  by 
when  they  were  talkin'  sly."  Suddenly  Mr.  Bixby's  eye 
alighted  on  Mr.  Wetherell,  who  by  a  stretch  of  imagina 
tion  conceived  that  it  expressed  both  astonishment  and 
approval,  although  he  was  wholly  at  a  loss  to  understand 
these  sentiments.  Mr.  Bixby  winked  —  Mr.  Wetherell 
was  sure  of  that.  But  to  his  surprise,  Bijah  did  not 
pause  in  his  rounds  to  greet  him. 

Mr.  Wetherell  was  beginning  to  be  decidedly  uneasy, 
and  was  about  to  go  upstairs,  when  Mr.  Merrill  came 
down  the  rotunda  whistling,  with  his  hands  in  his  pock 
ets.  He  stopped  whistling  when  he  spied  the  storekeeper, 
and  approached  him  in  his  usual  hearty  manner. 

"  Well,  well,  this  is  fortunate,"  said  Mr.  Merrill ;  "  how 
are  you,  Duncan  ?  I  want  you  to  know  Mr.  Wetherell. 
Wetherell  writes  that  weekly  letter  for  the  Q-uardian  you 
were  speaking  to  me  about  last  year.  Will,  this  is  Mr. 
Alexander  Duncan,  president  of  the  '  Central.' ': 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Wetherell?"  said  the  scholarly 
gentleman  with  the  spectacles,  putting  out  his  hand. 
"  I'm  glad  to  meet  you,  very  glad,  indeed.  I  read  your 
letters  with  the  greatest  pleasure." 

Mr.  Wetherell,  as  he  took  Mr.  Duncan's  hand,  had  a 
variety  of  emotions  which  may  be  imagined,  and  need  not 
be  set  down  in  particular. 

"  Funny  thing,"  Mr.  Merrill  continued,  "  I  was  looking 
for  you,  Duncan.  It  occurred  to  me  that  you  would  like 
to  meet  Mr.  Wetherell.  I  was  afraid  you  were  in  Bos 
ton." 

"  I  have  just  got  back,"  said  Mr.  Duncan. 

"  I  wanted  Wetherell  to  see  your  library.  I  was  telling 
him  about  it." 

"  I  should  be  delighted  to  show  it  to  him,"  answered 
Mr.  Duncan.  That  library,  as  is  well  known,  was  a  spe 
cial  weakness  of  Mr.  Duncan's. 


THE  WOODCHUCK  SESSION  187 

Poor  William  Wetherell,  who  was  quite  overwhelmed 
by  the  fact  that  the  great  Mr.  Duncan  had  actually  read 
his  letters  and  liked  them,  could  scarcely  utter  a  sensi 
ble  word.  Almost  before  he  realized  what  had  hap 
pened  he  was  following  Mr.  Duncan  out  of  the  Pelican 
House,  when  the  storekeeper  was  mystified  once  more  by 
a  nudge  and  another  wink  from  Mr.  Bixby,  conveying 
unbounded  admiration. 

"  Why  don't  you  write  a  book,  Mr.  Wetherell  ? " 
inquired  the  railroad  president,  when  they  were  crossing 
the  park. 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  do  it,"  said  Mr.  Wetherell,  mod 
estly.  Such  incense  was  overpowering,  and  he  immedi 
ately  forgot  Mr.  Bixby. 

"  Yes,  you  can,"  said  Mr.  Duncan,  "  only  you  don't 
know  it.  Take  your  letters  for  a  beginning.  You  can  draw 
people  well  enough,  when  you  try.  There  was  your  de 
scription  of  the  lonely  hill-farm  on  the  spur  —  I  shall  always 
remember  that :  the  gaunt  farmer,  toiling  every  minute 
between  sun  and  sun;  the  thin,  patient  woman  bending  to 
a  task  that  never  changed  or  lightened;  the  children  grow 
ing  up  and  leaving  one  by  one,  some  to  the  cities,  some  to 
the  West,  until  the  old  people  are  left  alone  in  the  evening 
of  life  —  to  the  sunsets  and  the  storms.  Of  course  you 
must  write  a  book." 

Mr.  Duncan  quoted  other  letters,  and  William  Wether 
ell  thrilled.  Poor  man!  he  had  had  little  enough  incense 
in  his  time,  and  none  at  all  from  the  great.  They  came 
to  the  big  square  house  with  the  cornice  which  Cynthia 
had  seen  the  day  before,  and  walked  across  the  lawn 
through  the  open  door.  William  Wetherell  had  a  glimpse 
of  a  great  drawing-room  with  high  windows,  out  of  which 
was  wafted  the  sound  of  a  piano  and  of  youthful  voices 
and  laughter,  and  then  he  was  in  the  library.  The  thought 
of  one  man  owning  all  those  books  overpowered  him. 
There  they  were,  in  stately  rows,  from  the  floor  to  the  high 
ceiling,  and  a  portable  ladder  with  which  to  reach  them. 

Mr.  Duncan,  understanding  perhaps  something  of  the 
storekeeper's  embarrassment,  proceeded  to  take  down  his 


188  CONISTON 

treasures:  first  editions  from  the  shelves,  and  folios  and  mis 
sals  from  drawers  in  a  great  iron  safe  in  one  corner  and 
laid  them  on  the  mahogany  desk.  It  was  the  railroad 
president's  hobby,  and  could  he  find  an  appreciative 
guest,  he  was  happy.  It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  he 
found  William  Wetherell  appreciative,  and  possessed  of 
a  knowledge  of  Shaksperiana  and  other  matters  that 
astonished  his  host  as  well  as  pleased  him.  For  Weth 
erell  had  found  his  tongue  at  last. 

After  a  while  Mr.  Duncan  drew  out  his  watch  and  gave 
a  start. 

"By  George!"  he  exclaimed,  "it's  after  eight  o'clock. 
I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  excuse  me  to-night,  Mr.  Wetherell. 
I'd  like  to  show  you  the  rest  of  them  —  can't  you  come 
around  to-morrow  afternoon?" 

Mr.  Wetherell,  who  had  forgotten  his  own  engagement 
and  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  said  he  would  be  happy  to  come. 
And  they  went  out  together  and  began  to  walk  toward 
the  State  House. 

"It  isn't  often  I  find  a  man  who  knows  anything 
at  all  about  these  things,"  continued  Mr.  Duncan,  whose 
heart  was  quite  won.  "Why  do  you  bury  yourself  in 
Coniston  ?" 

"  I  went  there  from  Boston  for  my  health,"  said  the 
storekeeper. 

"  Jethro  Bass  lives  there,  doesn't  he  ?"  said  Mr.  Duncan, 
with  a  laugh.  "  But  I  suppose  you  don't  know  anything 
about  politics." 

"  I  know  nothing  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Wetherell,  which 
was  quite  true.  He  had  been  in  dreamland,  but  now  the 
fact  struck  him  again,  with  something  of  a  shock,  that 
this  mild-mannered  gentleman  was  one  of  those  who  had 
been  paying  certain  legislators  to  remain  in  their  seats. 
Wetherell  thought  of  speaking  to  Mr.  Duncan  of  his 
friendship  with  Jethro  Bass,  but  the  occasion  passed. 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  I  didn't  have  to  know  anything 
about  politics,"  Mr.  Duncan  was  saying;  "they  disgust  me. 
There's  a  little  matter  on  now,  about  an  extension  of  the 
Truro  Railroad  to  Harwich,  which  wouldn't  interest 


THE  WOODCHUCK  SESSION  189 

you,  but  you  can't  conceive  what  a  nuisance  it  has  been  to 
watch  that  House  day  and  night,  as  I've  had  to.  It's  no 
joke  to  have  that  townsman  of  yours,  Jethro  Bass,  opposed 
to  you.  I  won't  say  anything  against  him,  for  he  may  be 
a  friend  of  yours,  and  I  have  to  use  him  sometimes  my 
self."  Mr.  Duncan  sighed.  "It's  all  very  sordid  and 
annoying.  Now  this  evening,  for  instance,  when  we 
might  have  enjoyed  ourselves  with  those  books,  I've  got 
to  go  to  the  House,  just  because  some  backwoods  farm 
ers  want  to  talk  about  woodchucks.  I  suppose  it's  fool 
ish,"  said  Mr.  Duncan;  "but  Bass  has  tricked  us  so  often 
that  I've  got  into  the  habit  of  being  watchful.  I  should 
have  been  here  twenty  minutes  ago." 

By  this  time  they  had  come  to  the  entrance  of  the  State 
House,  and  Wetherell  followed  Mr.  Duncan  in,  to  have  a 
look  at  the  woodchuck  session  himself.  Several  members 
hurried  by  and  up  the  stairs,  some  of  them  in  their  Sun 
day  black  ;  and  the  lobby  above  seemed,  even  to  the 
storekeeper's  unpractised  eye,  a  trifle  active  for  a  wood- 
chuck  session.  Mr.  Duncan  muttered  something,  and 
quickened  his  gait  a  little  on  the  steps  that  led  to  the 
gallery.  This  place  was  almost  empty.  They  went  down 
to  the  rail,  and  the  railroad  president  cast  his  eye  over 
the  House. 

"  Good  God  !"  he  said  sharply,  "there's  almost  a  quorum 
here."  He  ran  his  eye  over  the  members.  "  There  is  a 
quorum  here." 

Mr.  Duncan  stood  drumming  nervously  with  his  fingers 
on  the  rail,  scanning  the  heads  below.  The  members  were 
scattered  far  and  wide  through  the  seats,  like  an  army 
in  open  order,  listening  in  silence  to  the  droning  voice  of 
the  clerk.  Moths  burned  in  the  gas  flames,  and  June- 
bugs  hummed  in  at  the  high  windows  and  tilted  against 
the  walls.  Then  Mr.  Duncan's  finger  nails  whitened  as 
his  thin -hands  clutched  the  rail,  and  a  sense  of  a  pending 
event  was  upon  Wetherell.  Slowly  he  realized  that  he 
was  listening  to  the  Speaker's  deep  voice. 

"  '  The  Committee  on  Corporations,  to  whom  was  re 
ferred  House  Bill  Number  109,  entitled,  An  Act  to  extend 


190  COXISTON 

the  Truro  Railroad  to  Harwich,  having  considered  the 
same,  report  the  same  with  the  following  resolution :  Re 
solved,  that  the  bill  ought  to  pass.  Chauncey  Weed,  for 
the  Committee.' ' 

The  Truro  Franchise  !  The  lights  danced,  and  even 
a  sudden  weakness  came  upon  the  storekeeper.  Jethro's 
trick  !  The  Duncan  and  Lovejoy  representatives  in  the 
theatre,  the  adherents  of  the  bill  here  !  Wetherell  saw 
Mr.  Duncan  beside  him,  a  tense  figure  leaning  on  the  rail, 
calling  to  some  one  below.  A  man  darted  up  the  centre, 
another  up  the  side  aisle.  Then  Mr.  Duncan  flashed  at 
William  Wetherell  from  his  blue  eye  such  a  look  of  anger 
as  the  storekeeper  never  forgot,  and  he,  too,  was  gone. 
Tingling  and  perspiring,  Wetherell  leaned  out  over  the 
railing  as  the  Speaker  rapped  calmly  for  order.  Hysteric 
laughter,  mingled  with  hoarse  cries,  ran  over  the  House, 
but  the  Honorable  Heth  Sutton  did  not  even  smile. 

A  dozen  members  were  on  their  feet  shouting  to  the 
chair.  One  was  recognized,  and  that  man  Wetherell  per 
ceived  with  amazement  to  be  Mr.  Jameson  of  Wantage, 
adherent  of  Jethro's  —  he  who  had  moved  to  adjourn  for 
"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin "  !  A  score  of  members  crowded 
into  the  aisles,  but  the  Speaker's  voice  again  rose  above 
the  tumult. 

"  The  doorkeepers  will  close  the  doors  !  Mr.  Jameson 
of  Wantage  moves  that  the  report  of  the  Committee  be 
accepted,  and  on  this  motion  a  roll-call  is  ordered." 

The  doorkeepers,  who  must  have  been  inspired,  had 
already  slammed  the  doors  in  the  faces  of  those  seeking 
wildly  to  escape.  The  clerk  already  had  the  little,  short- 
legged  desk  before  him  and  was  calling  the  roll  with  in 
credible  rapidity.  Bewildered  and  excited  as  Wetherell 
was,  and  knowing  as  little  of  parliamentary  law  as  the 
gentleman  who  had  proposed  the  woodchuck  session,  he 
began  to  form  some  sort  of  a  notion  of  Jethro's  general 
ship,  and  he  saw  that  the  innocent  rural  members  who 
belonged  to  Duncan  and  Lovejoy's  faction  had  tried  to  get 
away  before  the  roll-call,  destroy  the  quorum,  and  so  ad 
journ  the  House.  These,  needless  to  say,  were  not  par- 


THE  WOODCHUCK  SESSION  191 

liamentarians,  either.  They  had  lacked  a  leader,  they 
were  stunned  by  the  suddenness  of  the  onslaught,  and 
had  not  moved  quickly  enough.  Like  trapped  animals, 
they  wandered  blindly  about  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
sank  down  anywhere.  Each  answered  the  roll-call  sul 
lenly,  out  of  necessity,  for  every  one  of  them  was  a  marked 
man.  Then  Wetherell  remembered  the  two  members  who 
had  escaped,  and  Mr.  Duncan,  and  fell  to  calculating  how 
long  it  would  take  these  to  reach  Foster's  Opera  House, 
break  into  the  middle  of  an  act,  and  get  out  enough  par 
tisans  to  come  back  and  kill  the  bill.  Mr.  Wetherell 
began  to  wish  he  could  witness  the  scene  there,  too,  but 
something  held  him  here,  shaking  with  excitement,  listen 
ing  to  each  name  that  the  clerk  called. 

Would  the  people  at  the  theatre  get  back  in  time  ? 

Despite  William  Wetherell's  principles,  whatever  these 
may  have  been,  he  was  so  carried  away  that  he  found  him 
self  with  his  watch  in  his  hand,  counting  off  the  minutes 
as  the  roll-call  went  on.  Foster's  Opera  House  was  some 
six  squares  distant,  and  by  a  liberal  estimate  Mr.  Duncan 
and  his  advance  guard  ought  to  get  back  within  twenty 
minutes  of  the  time  he  left.  Wetherell  was  not  aware 
that  people  were  coming  into  the  gallery  behind  him;  he 
was  not  aware  that  one  sat  at  his  elbow  until  a  familiar 
voice  spoke  directly  into  his  ear. 

"  Er  —  Will  —  held  Duncan  pretty  tight  —  didn't  you? 
He's  a  hard  one  to  fool,  too.  Never  suspected  a  mite,  did 
he  ?  Look  out  for  your  watch  ! " 

Mr.  Bixby  seized  it  or  it  would  have  fallen.  If  his  life 
had  depended  on  it,  William  Wetherell  could  not  have 
spoken  a  word  to  Mr.  Bixby  then. 

"  You  done  well,  Will,  sure  enough,"  that  gentleman 
continued  to  whisper.  "  And  Alvy's  gal  done  well,  too 
—  you  understand.  I  guess  she's  the  only  one  that 
ever  snarled  up  Al  Lovejoy  so  that  he  didn't  know 
where  he  was  at.  But  it  took  a  fine,  delicate  touch  for 
her  job  and  yours,  Will.  Godfrey,  this  is  the  quickest 
roll-call  I  ever  seed  !  They've  got  halfway  through  Truro 
County.  That  fellow  can  talk  faster  than  a  side-show 
ticket-seller  at  a  circus." 


192  CONISTON 

The  clerk  was,  indeed,  performing  prodigies  of  pronuncia 
tion.  When  he  reached  Wells  County,  the  last,  Mr.  Bixby 
so  far  lost  his  habitual  sang  froid  as  to  hammer  on  the  rail 
with  his  fist. 

"  If  there  hain't  a  quorum,  we're  done  for,"  he  said. 
"  How  much  time  has  gone  away  ?  Twenty  minutes  ! 
Godfrey,  some  of  'em  may  break  loose  and  git  here  in 
five  minutes  !  " 

"  Break  loose  ?  "  Wetherell  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

Mr.  Bixby  screwed  up  his  face. 

"  You  understand.     Accidents  is  liable  to  happen." 

Mr.  Wetherell  didn't  understand  in  the  least,  but  just 
then  the  clerk  reached  the  last  name  on  the  roll ;  an  in 
stant  of  absolute  silence,  save  for  the  June- bugs,  followed, 
while  the  assistant  clerk  ran  over  his  figures  deftly  and 
handed  them  to  Mr.  Sutton,  who  leaned  forward  to  receive 
them. 

"  One  hundred  and  twelve  gentlemen  have  voted  in  the 
affirmative  and  forty-eight  in  the  negative,  and  the  report 
of  the  Committee  is  accepted." 

"  Ten  more'n  a  quorum  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Bixby,  in  a 
voice  of  thanksgiving,  as  the  turmoil  below  began  again. 
It  seemed  as  though  every  man  in  the  opposition  was  on  his 
feet  and  yelling  at  the  chair :  some  to  adjourn ;  some  to 
indefinitely  postpone ;  some  demanding  roll-calls ;  others 
swearing  at  these  —  for  a  division  vote  would  have  opened 
the  doors.  Others  tried  to  get  out,  and  then  ran  down 
the  aisles  and  called  fiercely  on  the  Speaker  to  open  the 
doors,  and  threatened  him.  But  the  Honorable  Heth 
Sutton  did  not  lose  his  head,  and  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  he  ever  appeared  to  better  advantage  than  at  that 
moment.  He  had  a  voice  like  one  of  the  Clovelly  bulls 
that  fed  in  his  own  pastures  in  the  valley,  and  by  sheer 
bellowing  he  got  silence,  or  something  approaching  it,  — 
the  protests  dying  down  to  ahum;  had  recognized  another 
friend  of  the  bill,  and  was  putting  another  question. 

"Mr.  Gibbs  of  Wareham  moves  that  the  rules  of  the 
House  be  so  far  suspended  that  this  bill  be  read  a  second 
and  third  time  by  its  title,  and  be  put  upon  its  final  pas- 


THE  WOODCHUCK  SESSION  193 

sage  at  this  time.  And  on  this  motion,"  thundered  Mr. 
Sutton,  above  the  tide  of  rising  voices,  "the  yeas  and 
nays  are  called  for.  The  doorkeepers  will  keep  the  doors 
shut." 

"  Abbey  of  Ashburton." 

The  nimble  clerk  had  begun  on  the  roll  almost  before 
the  Speaker  was  through,  and  checked  off  the  name. 
Bijah  Bixby  mopped  his  brow  with  a  blue  pocket-hand 
kerchief. 

"  My  God,"  he  said,  "  what  a  risk  Jethro's  took  !  they 
can't  git  through  another  roll-call.  Jest  look  at  Heth  ! 
Ain't  he  carryin'  it  magnificent?  Hain't  as  ruffled  as  I  be. 
I've  knowed  him  ever  sence  he  wahn't  no  higher'n  that 
desk.  Never  would  have  b'en  in  politics  if  it  hadn't  b'en 
for  me.  Funny  thing,  Will  —  you  and  I  was  so  excited 
we  never  thought  to  look  at  the  clock.  Put  up  your 
watch.  Godfrey,  what's  this  ?  " 

The  noise  of  many  feet  was  heard  behind  them.  Men 
and  women  were  crowding  breathlessly  into  the  gallery. 

"  Didn't  take  it  long  to  git  noised  araound,"  said  Mr. 
Bixby.  "  Say,  Will,  they're  bound  to  have  got  at  'em  in 
the  thea'tre.  Don't  see  how  they  held  'em  off,  c-cussed  if 
I  do." 

The  seconds  ticked  into  minutes,  the  air  became  stifling, 
for  now  the  front  of  the  gallery  was  packed.  Now,  if  ever, 
the  fate  of  the  Truro  Franchise  hung  in  the  balance,  and, 
perhaps,  the  rule  of  Jethro  Bass.  And  now,  as  in  the  dis 
tance,  came  a  faint,  indefinable  stir,  not  yet  to  be  identified 
by  Wetherell's  ears  as  a  sound,  but  registered  somewhere 
in  his  brain  as  a  warning  note.  Bijah  Bixby,  as  sensitive 
as  he,  straightened  up  to  listen,  and  then  the  whispering 
was  hushed.  The  members  below  raised  their  heads, 
and  some  clutched  the  seats  in  front  of  them  and  looked 
up  at  the  high  windows.  Only  the  Speaker  sat  like  a 
wax  statue  of  himself,  and  glanced  neither  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left. 

"  Harkness  of  Truro,"  said  the  clerk. 

"  He's  almost  to  Wells  County  again,"  whispered  Bijah, 
excitedly.  "  I  didn't  callate  he  could  do  it.  Will  ?  " 


194  CONISTON 

"Yes?" 

"  Will  —  you  hear  somethin'  ?  " 

A  distant  shout  floated  with  the  night  breeze  in  at  the 
windows  ;  a  man  on  the  floor  got  to  his  feet  and  stood 
straining  :  a  commotion  was  going  on  at  the  back  of 
the  gallery,  and  a  voice  was  heard  crying  out  :  — 

"For  the  love  of  God,  let  me  through  !  " 

Then  Wetherell  turned  to  see  the  crowd  at  the  back 
parting  a  little,  to  see  a  desperate  man  in  a  gorgeous  white 
necktie  fighting  his  way  toward  the  rail.  He  wore  no  hat, 
his  collar  was  wilted,  and  his  normally  ashen  face  had 
turned  white.  And,  strangest  of  all,  clutched  tightly  in 
his  hand  was  a  pink  ribbon. 

"It's  Al  Lovejoy,"  said  Bijah,  laconically. 

Unmindful  of  the  awe-stricken  stares  he  got  from  those 
about  him  when  his  identity  became  known,  Mr.  Lovejoy 
gained  the  rail  and  shoved  aside  a  man  who  was  actually 
making  way  for  him.  Leaning  far  out,  he  scanned  the 
house  with  inarticulate  rage  while  the  roll-call  went  mo 
notonously  on.  Some  of  the  members  looked  up  at  him 
and  laughed  ;  others  began  to  make  frantic  signs,  indica 
tive  of  helplessness  ;  still  others  telegraphed  him  obvious 
advice  about  reinforcements  which,  if  anything,  increased 
his  fury.  Mr.  Bixby  was  now  fanning  himself  with  the 
blue  handkerchief. 

"  I  hear  'em  !  "  he  said,  "  I  hear  'em,  Will  !  " 

And  he  did.  The  unmistakable  hum  of  the  voices  of 
many  men  and  the  sound  of  feet  on  stone  flagging  shook 
the  silent  night  without.  The  clerk  read  off  the  last 
name  on  the  roll. 

"Tompkins  of  Ulster." 

His  assistant  lost  no  time  now.  A  mistake  would  have 
been  fatal,  but  he  was  an  old  hand.  Unmindful  of  the 
rumble  on  the  wooden  stairs  below,  Mr.  Sutton  took  the 
list  with  an  admirable  deliberation. 

"  One  hundred  and  twelve  gentlemen  have  voted  in  the 
affirmative,  forty-eight  in  the  negative,  the  rules  of  the 
House  are  suspended,  and  "  (the  clerk  having  twice  mum 
bled  the  title  of  the  bill)  "  the  question  is  :  Shall  the  bill 


THE  WOODCHUCK  SESSION 

pass  ?  As  many  as  are  of  opinion  that  the  bill  pass  will 
say  Aye,  contrary  minded  No." 

Feet  were  in  the  House  corridor  now,  and  voices  rising 
there,  and  noises  that  must  have  been  scuffling  —  yes,  and 
beating  of  door  panels.  Almost  every  member  was  stand 
ing,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  all  shouting,  —  "  per 
sonal  privilege,"  "  fraud,"  "  trickery,  "  "  open  the  doors." 
Bijah  was  slowly  squeezing  the  blood  out  of  William 
Wetherell's  arm. 

"  The  doorkeepers  has  the  keys  in  their  pockets  !  "  Mr. 
Bixby  had  to  shout,  for  once. 

Even  then  the  Speaker  did  not  flinch.  By  a  seeming 
miracle  he  got  a  semblance  of  order,  recognized  his  man, 
and  his  great  voice  rang  through  the  hall  and  drowned 
all  other  sounds. 

"  And  on  this  question  a  roll-call  is  ordered.  The  door 
keepers  will  close  the  doors!" 

Then,  as  in  reaction,  the  gallery  trembled  with  a  roar 
of  laughter.  But  Mr.  Button  did  not  smile.  The  clerk 
scratched  off  the  names  with  lightning  rapidity,  scarce 
waiting  for  the  answers.  Every  man's  color  was  known, 
and  it  was  against  the  rules  to  be  present  and  fail  to  vote. 
The  noise  in  the  corridors  grew  louder,  some  one  dealt  a 
smashing  kick  on  a  panel,  and  Wetherell  ventured  to  ask 
Mr.  Bixby  if  he  thought  the  doors  would  hold. 

"  They  can  break  in  all  they've  a  mind  to  now,"  he 
chuckled  ;  "  the  Truro  Franchise  is  safe." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Wetherell  demanded  excitedly. 

"  If  a  member  hain't  present  when  a  question  is  put,  he 
can't  git  into  a  roll-call,"  said  Bijah. 

The  fact  that  the  day  was  lost  was  evidently  brought 
home  to  those  below,  for  the  strife  subsided  gradually, 
and  finally  ceased  altogether.  The  whispers  in  the  gallery 
died  down,  the  spectators  relaxed  a  little.  Lovejoy  alone 
remained  tense,  though  he  had  seated  himself  on  a  bench, 
and  the  hot  anger  in  which  he  had  come  was  now  cooled 
into  a  vindictiveness  that  set  the  hard  lines  of  his  face 
even  harder.  He  still  clutched  the  ribbon.  The  last 
part  of  that  famous  roll-call  was  conducted  so  quietly  that 


196  CONISTON 

a  stranger  entering  the  House  would  have  suspected  noth 
ing  unusual.  It  was  finished  in  absolute  silence. 

"  One  hundred  and  twelve  gentlemen  have  voted  in 
the  affirmative,  forty-eight  in  the  negative,  and  the  bill 
passes.  The  House  will  attend  to  the  title  of  the  bill." 

"  An  act  to  extend  the  Truro  Railroad  to  Harwich," 
said  the  clerk,  glibly. 

"  Such  will  be  the  title  of  the  bill  unless  otherwise 
ordered  by  the  House,"  said  Mr.  Speaker  Sutton.  "The 
doorkeepers  will  open  the  doors." 

Somebody  moved  to  adjourn,  the  motion  was  carried, 
and  thus  ended  what  has  gone  down  to  history  as  the 
Woodchuck  Session.  Pandemonium  reigned.  One  hun 
dred  and  forty  belated  members  fought  their  way  in  at  the 
four  entrances,  and  mingled  with  them  were  lobbyists  of 
all  sorts  and  conditions,  residents  and  visitors  to  the 
capital,  men  and  women  to  whom  the  drama  of  "  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin  "  was  as  nothing  to  that  of  the  Truro  Fran 
chise  Bill.  It  was  a  sight  to  look  down  upon.  Fierce 
wrangles  began  in  a  score  of  places,  isolated  personal  re 
marks  rose  above  the  din,  but  your  New  Englander  rarely 
comes  to  blows  ;  in  other  spots  men  with  broad  smiles 
seized  others  by  the  hands  and  shook  them  violently, 
while  Mr.  Speaker  Sutton  seemed  in  danger  of  suffoca 
tion  by  his  friends.  His  enemies,  for  the  moment,  could 
get  nowhere  near  him.  On  this  scene  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby 
gazed  with  pardonable  pleasure. 

"  Guess  there  wahn't  a  mite  of  trouble  about  the  river 
towns,"  he  said,  "  I  had  'em  in  my  pocket.  Will,  let's 
amble  round  to  the  thea'tre.  We  ought  to  git  in  two 
acts." 

William  Wetherell  went.  There  is  no  need  to  go  into 
the  psychology  of  the  matter.  It  may  have  been  numb 
ness  ;  it  may  have  been  temporary  insanity  caused  by  the 
excitement  of  the  battle  he  had  witnessed,  for  his  brain 
was  in  a  whirl  ;  or  Mr.  Bixby  may  have  hypnotized  him. 
As  they  walked  through  the  silent  streets  toward  the 
Opera  House,  he  listened  perforce  to  Mr.  Bixby's  com 
ments  upon  some  of  the  innumerable  details  which  Jethro 


THE  WOODCHUCR  SESSION 

had  planned  and  quietly  carried  out  while  sitting  in  the 
window  of  the  Throne  Room.  A  great  light  dawned  on 
William  Wetherell,  but  too  late. 

Jethro's  trusted  lieutenants  (of  whom,  needless  to  say, 
Mr.  Bixby  was  one)  had  been  commanded  to  notify  such 
of  their  supporters  whose  fidelity  and  secrecy  could  be 
absolutely  depended  upon  to  attend  the  Woodchuck  Ses 
sion  ;  and,  further  to  guard  against  surprise,  this  order  had 
not  gone  out  until  the  last  minute  (hence  Mr.  Amos 
Cuthbert's  conduct).  The  seats  of  these  members  at  the 
theatre  had  been  filled  by  accommodating  townspeople 
and  visitors.  Forestalling  a  possible  vote  on  the  morrow  to 
recall  and  reconsider,  there  remained  some  sixty  members 
whose  loyalty  was  unquestioned,  bat  whose  reputation  for 
discretion  was  not  of  the  best.  So  much  for  the  parlia 
mentary  side  of  the  affair,  which  was  a  revelation  of 
generalship  and  organization  to  William  Wetherell.  By 
the  time  he  had  grasped  it  they  were  come  in  view  of  the 
lights  of  Foster's  Opera  House,  and  they  perceived,  among 
a  sprinkling  of  idlers,  a  conspicuous  and  meditative  gentle 
man  leaning  against  a  pillar.  He  was  ludicrously  tall  and 
ludicrously  thin,  his  hands  were  in  his  trousers  pockets, 
and  the  skirts  of  his  Sunday  broadcloth  coat  hung  down 
behind  him  awry.  One  long  foot  was  crossed  over  the 
other  and  rested  on  the  point  of  the  toe,  and  his  head  was 
tilted  to  one  side.  He  had,  011  the  whole,  the  appearance 
of  a  rather  mournful  stork.  Mr.  Bixby  approached  him 
gravely,  seized  him  by  the  lower  shoulder,  and  tilted  him 
down  until  it  was  possible  to  speak  into  his  ear.  The 
gentleman  apparently  did  not  resent  this,  although  he 
seemed  in  imminent  danger  of  being  upset. 

"  How  be  you,  Peleg  ?     Er  —  you  know  Will  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  gentleman. 

Mr.  Bixby  seized  Mr.  Wetherell  under  the  elbow,  and 
addressed  himself  to  the  storekeeper's  ear. 

"  Will,  I  want  you  to  shake  hands  with  Senator  Peleg 
Hartington,  of  Brampton.  This  is  Will  Wetherell,  Peleg, 
—  from  Coniston  —  you  understand." 

The  senator  took  one  hand  from  his  pocket. 


198  CONISTON 

"How  be  you?"  he  said.  Mr.  Bixby  was  once  more 
pulling  down  on  his  shoulder. 

"  H-haow  was  it  here  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Almighty  funny,"  answered  Senator  Hartington,  sadly, 
and  waved  at  the  lobby.  "  There  wahn't  standiii'  room 
in  the  place." 

"  Jethro  Bass  Republican  Club  come  and  packed  the 
entrance,"  explained  Mr.  Bixby  with  a  wink.  "  You 
understand,  Will?  Go  on,  Peleg." 

"  Sidewalk  and  street,  too,"  continued  Mr.  Hartington, 
slowly.  "  First  come  along  Ball  of  Towles,  hollerin'  like 
blazes.  They  crumpled  him  all  up  and  lost  him.  Next 
come  old  man  Duncan  himself." 

"  Will  kep'  Duncan,"  Mr.  Bixby  interjected. 

"  That  was  wholly  an  accident,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Weth- 
erell,  angrily. 

"  Will  wahn't  born  in  the  country,"  said  Mr.  Bixby. 

Mr.  Hartington  bestowed  on  the  storekeeper  a  mournful 
look,  and  continued:  — 

"  Never  seed  Duncan  sweatin'  before.  He  didn't  seem 
to  grasp  why  the  boys  was  there." 

"  Didn't  seem  to  understand,"  put  in  Mr.  Bixby,  sym 
pathetically. 

"  '  For  God's  sake,  gentlemen,'  says  he,'  let  me  in!  The 
Truro  Bill! '  'The  Truro  Bill  hain't  in  the  thea'tre,  Mr. 
Duncan,'  says  Dan  Everett.  Cussed  if  I  didn't  come  near 
laughin'.  '  That's  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  Mr.  Duncan,'  says 
Dan.  'You're  a  dam  fool,'  says  Duncan.  I  didn't  know 
he  was  profane.  '  Make  room  for  Mr.  Duncan,'  says  Dan, 
'he  wants  to  see  the  show.'  'I'm  a-goin '  to  see  you  in 
jail  for  this,  Everett,'  says  Duncan.  They  let  him  push 
in  about  half  a  rod,  and  they  swallowed  him.  He  was 
makin'  such  a  noise  that  they  had  to  close  the  doors  of  the 
thea'tre  —  so's  not  to  disturb  the  play-actors." 

"  You  understand,"  said  Mr.  Bixby  to  Wetherell.  Where 
upon  he  gave  another  shake  to  Mr.  Hartington,  who  had 
relapsed  into  a  sort  of  funereal  meditation. 

"  Well,"  resumed  that  personage,  "  there  was  some  more 
come,  hollerin'  about  the  Truro  Bill.  Not  many.  Guess 


THE  WOODCHUCK  SESSION  199 

they'll  all  have  to  git  their  wimmen-folks  to  press  their 
clothes  to-morrow.  Then  Duncan  wanted  to  git  out  again, 
but  'twan't  ex'actly  convenient.  Callated  he  was  suffo- 
catin'  —  seemed  to  need  air.  Little  mite  limp  when  he 
broke  loose,  Duncan  was." 

The  Honorable  Peleg  stopped  again,  as  if  he  were  over 
come  by  the  recollection  of  Mr.  Duncan's  plight. 

"Er  —  er  — Peleg!" 

Mr.  Hartington  started. 

"  What'd  they  do?  —  what'd  they  do  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  " 

"  How'd  they  git  notice  to  'em  ?  " 

"Oh,"  said  Mr.  Hartington,  "cussed  if  that  wahn't 
funny.  Let's  see,  where  was  I  ?  After  a  while  they  went 
over  t'other  side  of  the  street,  talkin'  sly,  waitin'  for  the 
act  to  end.  But  goldarned  if  it  ever  did  end." 

For  once  Mr.  Bixby  didn't  seem  to  understand. 

"D-didn'tend?" 

"  No,"  explained  Mr.  Hartington  ;  "  seems  they  hitched 
a  kind  of  nigger  minstrel  show  right  on  to  it  —  banjos  and 
thingumajigs  in  front  of  the  curtain  while  they  was  chang- 
in'  scenes,  and  they  hitched  the  second  act  right  on  to 
that.  Nobody  come  out  of  the  thea'tre  at  all.  Funny 
notion,  wahn't  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Bixby's  face  took  on  a  look  of  extreme  cunning. 
He  smiled  broadly  and  poked  Mr.  Wetherell  in  an  ex 
tremely  sensitive  portion  of  his  ribs.  On  such  occasions 
the  nasal  quality  of  Bijah's  voice  seemed  to  grow. 

"  You  see  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Know  that  little  man,  Gibbs,  don't  ye  ? "  inquired 
Mr.  Hartington. 

"  Aiiiey  Gibbs,  hain't  it  ?  Runs  a  livery  business  daown 
to  Rutgers,  on  Lovejoy's  railroad,"  replied  Mr.  Bixby, 
promptly.  "  I  know  him.  Knew  old  man  Gibbs  well's  I 
do  you.  Mean  cuss." 

"This  Aniey's  smart  —  wahn't  quite  smart  enough, 
though.  His  bright  idea  come  a  little  mite  late.  Hunted 
up  old  Christy,  got  the  key  to  his  law  office  right  here  in 
the  Duncan  Block,  went  up  through  the  skylight,  clumb 


200  CONISTON 

down  to  the  roof  of  Randall's  store  next  door,  shinned  up 
the  lightnin'  rod  on  t'other  side,  and  stuck  his  head  plump 
into  the  Opery  House  window." 

"  I  want  to  know  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Bixby. 

"  Somethin'  terrible  pathetic  was  goin'  on  on  the  stage," 
resumed  Mr.  Hartington,  "  the  folks  didn't  see  him  at  first, 
—  they  was  all  cryin'  and  everythin'  was  still,  but  Airley 
wahn't  affected.  As  quick  as  he  got  his  breath  he  hol 
lered  right  out  loud's  he  could  :  '  The  Truro  Bill's  up  in 
the  House,  boys.  We're  skun  if  you  don't  git  thar  quick.' 
Then  they  tell  me  the  lightnin'  rod  give  way  ;  anyhow,  he 
came  down  on  Randall's  gravel  roof  considerable  hard,  I 
take  it." 

Mr.  Hartington,  apparently,  had  an  aggravating  way  of 
falling  into  mournful  revery  and  of  forgetting  his  subject. 
Mr.  Bixby  was  forced  to  jog  him  again. 

"  Yes,  they  did,"  he  said,  "  they  did.  They  come  out 
like  the  thea'tre  was  afire.  There  was  some  delay  in  get- 
tin'  to  the  street,  but  not  much  —  not  much.  All  the  Re 
publican  Clubs  in  the  state  couldn't  have  held  'em  then, 
and  the  profanity  they  used  wahn't  especially  edifyin'." 

"Peleg's  a  deacon — you  understand,"  said  Mr.  Bixby. 
"  Say,  Peleg,  where  was  Al  Lovejoy  ?  " 

"  Lovejoy  come  along  with  the  first  of  'em.  Must  have 
hurried  some  —  they  tell  me  he  was  settin'  way  down  in 
front  alongside  of  Alvy  Hopkins's  gal,  and  when  Airley 
hollered  out  she  screeched  and  clutched  on  to  Al,  and  Al 
said  somethin'  he  hadn't  ought  to  and  tore  off  one  of  them 
pink  gew-gaws  she  was  covered  with.  He  was  the  maddest 
man  I  ever  see.  Some  of  the  club  was  crowded  inside, 
behind  the  seats,  standin'  up  to  see  the  show.  Al  was  so 
anxious  to  git  through  he  hit  Si  Dudley  in  the  mouth  — 
injured  him  some,  I  guess.  Pity,  wahn't  it  ?" 

"  Si  hain't  in  politics,  you  understand,"  said  Mr.  Bixby. 
"  Callate  Si  paid  to  git  in  there,  didn't  he,  Peleg?" 

"  Callate  he  did,"  assented  Senator  Hartington. 

A  long  and  painful  pause  followed.  There  seemed,  in 
deed,  nothing  more  to  be  said.  The  sound  of  applause 
floated  out  of  the  Opera  House  doors,  a.round  which  the 
remaining  loiterers  were  clustered. 


THE  WOODCHUCK  SESSION  201 

"  Goin'  in,  be  you,  Peleg  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Bixby. 

Mr.  Hartington  shook  his  head. 

"  Will  and  me  had  a  notion  to  see  somethin'  of  the  show," 
said  Mr.  Bixby,  almost  apologetically.  "I  kep'  my  ticket." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Hartington,  reflectively,  "I  guess 
you'll  find  some  of  the  show  left.  That  hain't  b'en  hurt 
much,  so  far  as  I  can  ascertain." 

#  #  '  *  *  *  *  * 

The  next  afternoon,  when  Mr.  Isaac  D.  Worthington 
happened  to  be  sitting  alone  in  the  office  of  the  Truro 
Railroad  at  the  capital,  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
Mr.  Bijah  Bixby  entered.  Now,  incredible  as  it  may  seem, 
Mr.  Worthingtou  did  not  know  Mr.  Bixby — or  rather,  did 
not  remember  him.  Mr.  Worthington  had  not  had  at  that 
time  much  of  an  experience  in  politics,  and  he  did  not 
possess  a  very  good  memory  for  faces. 

Mr.  Bixby,  who  had,  as  we  know,  a  confidential  and 
winning  manner,  seated  himself  in  a  chair  very  close  to 
Mr.  Worthington  —  somewhat  to  that  gentleman's  alarm. 

"  How  be  you  ?  "  said  Bijah,  "  I-I've  got  a  little  bill 
here  —  you  understand." 

Mr.  Worthington  didn't  understand,  and  he  drew  his 
chair  away  from  Mr.  Bixby's. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  sir,"  answered  the 
president  of  the  Truro  Railroad,  indignantly ;  "  this  is 
neither  the  manner  nor  the  place  to  present  a  bill.  I  don't 
want  to  see  it." 

Mr.  Bixby  moved  his  chair  up  again.  "  Callate  you 
will  want  to  see  this  bill,  Mr.  Worthington,"  he  insisted, 
not  at  all  abashed.  "  Jethro  Bass  sent  it  —  you  under 
stand —  it's  engrossed" 

Whereupon  Mr.  Bixby  drew  from  his  capacious  pocket 
a  roll,  tied  with  white  ribbon,  and  pressed  it  into  Mr. 
Worthington's  hands.  It  was  the  Truro  Franchise  Bill. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  Mr.  Worthington  understood. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

" CYNTHIA   LOVED   YOU  " 

THERE  are  certain  instruments  used  by  scientists  so 
delicate  that  they  have  to  be  wrapped  in  cotton  wool  and 
kept  in  dustless  places,  and  so  sensitive  that  the  slightest 
shock  will  derange  them.  And  there  are  certain  souls 
which  cannot  stand  the  jars  of  life  —  souls  created  to 
register  thoughts  and  sentiments  too  fine  for  those  of 
coarser  construction.  Such  was  the  soul  of  the  store 
keeper  of  Coniston.  Whether  or  not  he  was  one  of  those 
immortalized  in  the  famous  Elegy,  it  is  not  for  us  to  say. 
A  celebrated  poet  who  read  the  letters  to  the  Gruardian 
—  at  Miss  Lucretia  Penniman's  request  —  has  declared 
Mr.  Wetherell  to  have  been  a  genius.  He  wrote  those 
letters,  as  we  know,  after  he  had  piled  his  boxes  and 
rolled  his  barrels  into  place;  after  he  had  added  up  the 
columns  in  his  ledger  and  recorded,  each  week,  the  small 
but  ever  increasing  deficit  which  he  owed  to  Jethro  Bass. 
Could  he  have  been  removed  from  the  barrels  and  the 
ledgers,  and  the  debts  and  the  cares  and  the  implications, 
what  might  we  have  had  from  his  pen  ?  That  will  never 
be  known. 

We  left  him  in  the  lobby  of  the  Opera  House,  but  he 
did  not  go  in  to  see  the  final  act  of  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin." 
He  made  his  way,  alone,  back  to  the  hotel,  slipped  in  by 
a  side  entrance,  and  went  directly  to  his  room,  where 
Cynthia  found  him,  half  an  hour  later,  seated  by  the  open 
window  in  the  dark. 

"  Aren't  you  well,  Dad  ?  "  she  asked  anxiously.  "  Why 
didn't  you  come  to  see  the  play  ?  " 

"I  —  I  was  detained  Cynthia,  "  he  said.  "  Yes  —  I  am 
well." 

202 


"CYNTHIA  LOVED  YOU"  203 

She  sat  down  beside  him  and  felt  his  forehead  and  his 
hands,  and  the  events  of  the  evening  which  were  on  her 
lips  to  tell  him  remained  unspoken. 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  left  Coniston,"  she  said ;  "  the 
excitement  is  too  much  for  you.  We  will  go  back  to 
morrow.  " 

"  Yes,  Cynthia,  we  will  go  back  to-morrow." 

"  In  the  morning?  " 

"  On  the  early  train,"  said  Wetherell,  "  and  now  you 
must  go  to  sleep." 

"  I  am  glad,''  said  Cynthia,  as  she  kissed  him  good 
night.  "  I  have  enjoyed  it  here,  and  I  am  grateful  to 
Uncle  Jethro  for  bringing  us,  but  —  but  I  like  Coniston 
best." 

William  Wetherell  could  have  slept  but  a  few  hours. 
When  he  awoke  the  sparrows  were  twittering  outside,  the 
fresh  cool  smells  of  the  morning  were  coming  in  at  his  win 
dows,  and  the  sunlight  was  just  striking  across  the  roofs 
through  the  green  trees  of  the  Capitol  Park.  The  re 
membrance  of  a  certain  incident  of  the  night  before  crept 
into  his  mind,  and  he  got  up  and  drew  on  his  clothes  and 
thrust  his  few  belongings  into  the  carpet-bag,  and  knocked 
on  Cynthia's  door.  She  was  already  dressed,  and  her  eyes 
rested  searchingly  on  his  face. 

"  Dad,  you  aren't  well.     I  know  it,"  she  said. 

But  he  denied  that  he  was  not. 

Her  belongings  were  in  a  neat  little  bundle  under  her 
arm.  But  when  she  went  to  put  them  in  the  bag  she 
gave  an  exclamation,  knelt  down,  took  everything  out 
that  he  had  packed,  and  folded  each  article  over  again 
with  amazing  quickness.  Then  she  made  a  rapid  survey 
of  the  room  lest  she  had  forgotten  anything,  closed  the 
bag,  and  they  went  out  and  along  the  corridor.  But  when 
Wetherell  turned  to  go  down  the  stairs,  she  stopped  him. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  say  goodby  to  Uncle  Jethro  ?" 

"I — I  would  rather  go  on  and  get  in  the  train,  Cynthia," 
he  said.  "Jethro  will  understand." 

Cynthia  was  worried,  but  she  did  not  care  to  leave  him; 
and  she  led  him,  protesting,  into  the  dining  room.  He  had 


204  CONISTON 

a  sinking  fear  that  they  might  meet  Jethro  there,  but 
only  a  few  big-boned  countrymen  were  scattered  about, 
attended  by  sleepy  waitresses.  Lest  Cynthia  might  sus 
pect  how  his  head  was  throbbing,  Wetherell  tried  bravely 
to  eat  his  breakfast.  He  did  not  know  that  she  had  gone 
out,  while  they  were  waiting,  and  written  a  note  to  Jethro, 
explaining  that  her  father  was  ill,  and  that  they  were 
going  back  to  Coniston.  After  breakfast,  when  they 
went  to  the  desk,  the  clerk  stared  at  them  in  astonish 
ment. 

"Going,  Mr.  Wetherell?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  find  that  I  have  to  get  back,"  stammered  the  store 
keeper.  "  Will  you  tell  me  the  amount  of  my  bill  ?  " 

"  Judge  Bass  gave  me  instructions  that  he  would  settle 
that." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  Mr.  Bass,"  said  Wetherell,  "  but  I 
prefer  to  pay  it  myself." 

The  man  hesitated. 

"The  judge  will  be  very  angry,  Mr.  Wetherell." 

"  Kindly  give  me  the  bill." 

The  clerk  made  it  out  and  handed  it  over  in  silence. 
Wetherell  had  in  his  pocket  the  money  from  several 
contributions  to  the  Guardian,  and  he  paid  him.  Then 
they  set  out  for  the  station,  bought  their  tickets  and  hur 
ried  past  the  sprinkling  of  people  there.  The  little 
train  for  Truro  was  standing  under  the  sheds,  the  hiss 
ing  steam  from  the  locomotive  rising  perpendicular  in  the 
still  air  of  the  morning,  and  soon  they  were  settled  in 
one  of  the  straight-backed  seats.  The  car  was  almost 
empty,  for  few  people  were  going  up  that  day,  and  at 
length,  after  what  seemed  an  eternity  of  waiting,  they 
started,  and  soon  were  in  the  country  once  more  — in  that 
wonderful  Truro  valley  with  its  fruit  trees  and  its  clover 
scents ;  with  its  sparkling  stream  that  tumbled  through 
the  passes  and  mirrored  between  green  meadow-banks  the 
blue  and  white  of  the  sky.  How  hungrily  they  drank  in 
the  freshness  of  it. 

They  reached  Truro  village  at  eleven.  Outside  the 
little  tavern  there,  after  dinner,  the  green  stage  was 


"CYNTHIA  LOVED  YOU"  205 

drawn  up  ;  and  Tom  the  driver  cracked  his  long  whip 
over  the  Morgan  leaders  and  they  started,  swaying  in  the 
sand  ruts  and  jolting  over  the  great  stones  that  cropped 
out  of  the  road.  Up  they  climbed,  through  narrow  ways 
in  the  forest  —  ways  hedged  with  alder  and  fern  and 
sumach  and  wild  grape,  adorned  with  oxeye  daisies  and 
tiger  lilies,  and  the  big  purple  flowers  which  they  knew 
and  loved  so  well.  They  passed,  too,  wild  lakes  over 
hung  with  primeval  trees,  where  the  iris  and  the  water- 
lily  grew  among  the  fallen  trunks  and  the  water-fowl  called 
to  each  other  across  the  blue  stretches.  And  at  length, 
when  the  sun  was  beginning  visibly  to  fall,  they  came  out 
into  an  open  cut  on  the  western  side  and  saw  again  the 
long  line  of  Coniston  once  more  against  the  sky. 

"  Dad,"  said  Cynthia,  as  she  gazed,  "  don't  you  love  it 
better  than  any  other  place  in  the  world  ?  " 

He  did.     But  he  could  not  answer  her. 

An  hour  later,  from  the  hilltops  above  Isaac  Worth- 
ington's  mills,  they  saw  the  terraced  steeple  of  Brampton 
church,  and  soon  the  horses  were  standing  with  drooping 
heads  and  wet  sides  in  front  of  Mr.  Sherman's  tavern  in 
Brampton  Street ;  and  Lem  Hallowell,  his  honest  face 
aglow  with  joy,  was  lifting  Cynthia  out  of  the  coach  as  if 
she  were  a  bundle  of  feathers. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  he  cried,  "  this  is  a  little  might  sud 
den  !  What's  the  matter  with  the  capital,  Will  ?  Too 
wicked  and  sophisticated  down  thar  to  suit  ye?  "  By  this 
time,  Wetherell,  too,  had  reached  the  ground,  and  as  Lem 
Hallowell  gazed  into  his  face  the  laughter  in  his  own  died 
away  and  gave  place  to  a  look  of  concern.  "  Don't  won 
der  ye  come  back,"  he  said,  "  you're  as  white  as  Moses's 
hoss." 

"He  isn't  feeling  very  well,  Lem;"  said  Cynthia. 

"  Jest  tuckered,  that's  all,"  answered  Lem;  "you  git  him 
right  into  the  stage,  Cynthy,  I  won't  be  long.  Hurry 
them  things  off,  Tom,"  he  called,  and  himself  seized  a 
huge  crate  from  the  back  of  the  coach  and  flung  it  on  his 
shoulder.  He  had  his  cargo  on  in  a  jiffy,  clucked  to  his 
horses,  and  they  turned  into  the  familiar  road  to  Coniston 


206  CONISTON 

just  as  the  sun  was  dipping  behind  the  south  end  of  the 
mountain. 

"  They'll  be  surprised  some,  and  disappointed  some," 
said  Lem,  cheerily;  "  they  was  kind  of  plannin'  a  little  cele 
bration  when  you  come  back,  Will — you  and  Cynthy. 
Amandy  Hatch  was  a-goin'  to  bake  a  cake,  and  the  minis 
ter  was  callatiri'  to  say  some  word  of  welcome.  Wahn't 
goin'  to  be  anything  grand  —  jest  homelike.  But  you  was 
right  to  come  if  you  was  tuckered.  I  guess  Cynthy 
fetched  you.  Rias  he  kep'  store  and  done  it  well, —  brisk- 
er'n  I  ever  see  him,  Rias  was.  Wait  till  I  put  some  of 
them  things  back,  and  make  you  more  comfortable, 
Will." 

He  moved  a  few  parcels  and  packages  from  Wetherell's 
feet  and  glanced  at  Cynthia  as  he  did  so.  The  mountain 
cast  its  vast  blue  shadow  over  forest  and  pasture,  and 
above  the  pines  the  white  mist  was  rising  from  Coniston 
Water — rising  in  strange  shapes.  Lem's  voice  seemed  to 
William  Wetherell  to  have  given  way  to  a  world-wide 
silence,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  sought  vainly  for  Cyn 
thia  and  the  stage  driver.  Most  extraordinary  of  all,  out 
of  the  silence  and  the  void  came  the  checker-paned  win 
dows  of  the  store  at  Coniston,  then  the  store  itself,  with 
the  great  oaks  bending  over  it,  then  the  dear  familiar 
faces,  —  Moses  and  Amandy,  Eph  Prescott  limping  toward 
them,  and  little  Rias  Richardson  in  an  apron  with  a  scoop 
shovel  in  his  hand,  and  many  others.  They  were  not 
smiling  at  the  storekeeper's  return  —  they  looked  very 
grave.  Then  somebody  lifted  him  tenderly  from  the 
stage  and  said:  — 

"  Don't  you  worry  a  mite,  Cynthy.  Jest  tuckered,  that's 
all. 

William  Wetherell  was  "just  tuckered."  The  great 
Dr.  Coles,  authority  on  pulmonary  troubles,  who  came  all 
the  way  from  Boston,  could  give  no  better  verdict  than 
that.  It  was  Jethro  Bass  who  had  induced  Dr.  Coles 
to  come  to  Coniston  —  much  against  the  great  man's  incli 
nation,  and  to  the  detriment  of  his  patients:  Jethro  who,  on 
receiving  Cynthia's  note,  had  left  the  capital  on  the  next 


"CYNTHIA  LOVED  YOU"  207 

train  and  had  come  to  Coniston,  and  had  at  once  gone  to 
Boston  for  the  specialist. 

"  I  do  not  know  why  I  came,"  said  the  famous  physician 
to  Dr.  Abraham  Rowell  of  Tarleton,  "  I  never  shall  know. 
There  is  something  about  that  man  Jethro  Bass  which 
compels  you  to  do  his  will.  He  has  a  most  extraordinary 
personality.  Is  this  storekeeper  a  great  friend  of  his  ?  " 

"  The  only  intimate  friend  he  had  in  the  world,"  answered 
Dr.  Rowell;  "  none  of  us  could  ever  understand  it.  And 
as  for  the  girl,  Jethro  Bass  worships  her." 

"  If  nursing  could  cure  him,  I'd  trust  her  to  do  it.  She's 
a  natural-born  nurse." 

The  two  physicians  were  talking  in  low  tones  in  the 
little  garden  behind  the  store  when  Jethro  came  out  of 
the  doorway. 

"  He  looks  as  if  he  were  suffering,  too,"  said  the  Boston 
physician,  and  he  walked  toward  Jethro  and  laid  a  hand 
upon  his  shoulders.  "  I  give  him  until  winter,  my  friend," 
said  Dr.  Coles. 

Jethro  Bass  sat  down  on  the  doorstep  —  on  that  same 
millstone  where  he  had  talked  with  Cynthia  many  years 
before  —  and  was  silent  for  a  long  while.  The  doctor  was 
used  to  scenes  of  sorrow,  but  the  sight  of  this  man's  suf 
fering  unnerved  him,  and  he  turned  from  it. 

"  D-doctor  ?  "  said  Jethro,  at  last. 

The  doctor  turned  again.     "  Yes  ?  "he  said. 

"D-doctor  —  if  Wetherell  hadn't  b'en  to  the  capital  — 
would  he  have  lived  —  if  he  hadn't  been  to  the  capital  ?  " 

"  My  friend,"  said  Dr.  Coles,  "  if  Mr.  Wetherell  had  al 
ways  lived  in  a  warm  house,  and  had  always  been  well  fed, 
and  helped  over  the  rough  places  and  shielded  from  the 
storms,  he  might  have  lived  —  longer.  It  is  a  marvel  to 
me  that  he  has  lived  so  long." 

And  then  the  doctor  went  away,  back  to  Boston.  Many 
times  in  his  long  professional  life  had  the  veil  been  lifted 
for  him  —  a  little.  But  as  he  sat  in  the  train  he  said  to 
himself  that  in  this  visit  to  the  hamlet  of  Coniston  he  had 
had  the  strangest  glimpse  of  all. 

William  Wetherell  rallied,  as  Dr.  Coles  had  predicted, 


208  CONISTON 

from  that  first  sharp  attack,  and  one  morning  they  brought 
up  a  reclining  chair  which  belonged  to  Mr.  Satterlee, 
the  minister,  and  set  it  in  the  window.  There,  in  the  still 
days  of  the  early  autumn,  Wetherell  looked  down  upon  the 
garden  he  had  grown  to  love,  and  listened  to  the  song 
of  Coniston  Water.  There  Cynthia,  who  had  scarcely 
left  his  side,  read  to  him  from  Keats  and  Shelley  and 
Tennyson — yet  the  thought  grew  on  her  that  he  did  not 
seem  to  hear.  Even  that  wonderful  passage  of  Milton's, 
beginning  "  So  sinks  the  day-star  in  the  ocean  bed,  "  which 
he  always  used  to  beg  her  to  repeat,  did  not  seem  to  move 
him  now. 

The  neighbors  came  and  sat  with  him,  but  he  would 
not  often  speak.  Cheery  Lem  Hallowell  and  his  wife, 
and  Cousin  Ephraim,  to  talk  about  the  war,  hobbling 
slowly  up  the  stairs  —  for  rheumatism  had  been  added 
to  that  trouble  of  the  Wilderness  bullet  now,  and  Ephraim 
was  getting  along  in  years  ;  and  Rias  Richardson  stole  up 
in  his  carpet  slippers  ;  and  Moses,  after  his  chores  were 
done,  and  Amandy  with  her  cakes  and  delicacies,  which 
he  left  untouched  —  though  Amandy  never  knew  it.  Yes, 
and  Jethro  came.  Day  by  day  he  would  come  silently 
into  the  room,  and  sit  silently  for  a  space,  and  go  as 
silently  out  of  it.  The  farms  were  neglected  now  on 
Thousand  Acre  Hill.  William  Wetherell  would  take  his 
hand,  and  speak  to  him,  but  do  no  more  than  that. 

There  were  times  when  Cynthia  leaned  over  him,  lis 
tening  as  he  breathed  to  know  whether  he  slept  or  were 
awake.  If  he  were  not  sleeping,  he  would  speak  her  name: 
he  repeated  it  often  in  those  days,  as  though  the  sound 
of  it  gave  him  comfort  ;  and  he  would  fall  asleep  with 
it  on  his  lips,  holding  her  hand,  and  thinking,  perhaps, 
of  that  other  Cynthia  who  had  tended  and  nursed  and 
shielded  him  in  other  days.  Then  she  would  steal 
down  the  stairs  to  Jethro  on  the  doorstep  :  to  Jethro 
who  would  sit  there  for  hours  at  a  time,  to  the  wonder 
and  awe  of  his  neighbors.  Although  they  knew  that  he 
loved  the  storekeeper  as  he  loved  no  other  man,  his  was 
a  grief  that  they  could  not  understand. 


"CYNTHIA  LOVED  YOU"  209 

Cynthia  used  to  go  to  Jethro  in  the  garden.  Sorrow  had 
brought  them  very  near  together  ;  and  though  she  had 
loved  him  before,  now  he  had  become  her  reliance  and 
her  refuge.  The  first  time  Cynthia  saw  him,  when  the 
worst  of  the  illness  had  passed  and  the  strange  and 
terrifying  apathy  had  come,  she  had  hidden  her  head  on 
his  shoulder  and  wept  there.  Jethro  kept  that  coat, 
with  the  tear  stains  on  it,  to  his  dying  day,  and  never 
wore  it  again. 

"  Sometimes  —  sometimes  I  think  if  he  hadn't  gone  to 
the  capital,  Cynthy,  this  mightn't  hev  come,"  he  said 
to  her  once. 

"  But  the  doctor  said  that  didn't  matter,  Uncle  Jethro," 
she  answered,  trying  to  comfort  him.  She,  too,  believed 
that  something  had  happened  at  the  capital. 

"  N-never  spoke  to  you  about  anything  there  —  n-never 
spoke  to  you,  Cynthia  ?  " 

"No,  never,"  she  said.  "He  —  he  hardly  speaks  at 
all,  Uncle  Jethro." 

One  bright  morning  after  the  sun  had  driven  away 
the  frost,  when  the  sumachs  and  maples  beside  Coniston 
Water  were  aflame  with  red,  Rias  Richardson  came  steal 
ing  up  the  stairs  and  whispered  something  to  Cynthia. 

"  Dad,"  she  said,  laying  down  her  book,  "  it's  Mr. 
Merrill.  Will  you  see  him  ?  " 

William  Wetherell  gave  her  a  great  fright.  He  started 
up  from  his  pillows,  and  seized  her  wrist  with  a  strength 
which  she  had  not  thought  remained  in  his  fingers. 

"  Mr.  Merrill  I  "  he  cried  —  "  Mr.  Merrill  here  !" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Cynthia,  agitatedly,  "  he's  downstairs 
—  in  the  store." 

"  Ask  him  to  come  up,"  said  Wetherell,  sinking  back 
again,  "ask  him  to  come  up." 

Cynthia,  as  she  stood  in  the  passage,  was  of  two  minds 
about  it.  She  was  thoroughly  frightened,  and  went  first 
to  the  garden  to  ask  Jethro's  advice.  But  Jethro,  so 
Milly  Skinner  said,  had  gone  off  half  an  hour  before, 
and  did  not  know  that  Mr.  Merrill  had  arrived.  Cynthia 
went  back  again  to  her  father. 


210  CONISTON 

"  Where's  Mr.  Merrill  ?  "  asked  Wetherell. 

"  Dad,  do  you  think  you  ought  to  see  him  ?  He  —  he 
might  excite  you." 

"  I  insist  upon  seeing  him,  Cynthia." 

William  Wetherell  had  never  said  anything  like  that 
before.  But  Cynthia  obeyed  him,  and  presently  led  Mr. 
Merrill  into  the  room.  The  kindly  little  railroad  presi 
dent  was  very  serious  now.  The  wasted  face  of  the  store 
keeper,  enhanced  as  it  was  by  the  beard,  gave  Mr.  Merrill 
such  a  shock  that  he  could  not  speak  for  a  few  moments 

—  he  who  rarely  lacked  for  cheering  words  on  any  occa 
sion.    A  lump  rose  in  his  throat  as  he  went  over  and  stood 
by  the  chair  and  took  the  sick  man's  hand. 

"  I  am  glad  you  came,  Mr.  Merrill,"  said  Wetherell, 
simply,  "  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you.  Cynthia,  will  you 
leave  us  alone  for  a  few  minutes  ?  " 

Cynthia  went,  troubled  and  perplexed,  wondering  at 
the  change  in  him.  He  had  had  something  on  his  mind 

—  now  she  was  sure  of  it  —  something  which  Mr.  Merrill 
might  be  able  to  relieve. 

It  was  Mr.  Merrill  who  spoke  first  when  she  was  gone. 

"  I  was  coming  up  to  Brampton,"  he  said,  "  and  Tom 
Collins,  who  drives  the  Truro  coach,  told  me  you  were 
sick.  I  had  not  heard  of  it." 

Mr.  Merrill,  too,  had  something  on  his  mind,  and  did 
not  quite  know  how  to  go  on.  There  was  in  William 
Wetherell,  as  he  sat  in  the  chair  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
his  visitor's  face,  a  dignity  which  Mr.  Merrill  had  not 
seen  before  —  had  not  thought  the  man  might  possess. 

"  I  was  coming  to  see  you,  anyway,"  Mr.  Merrill  said. 
"  I  did  you  a  wrong  —  though  as  God  judges  me,  I  did 
not  think  of  it  at  the  time.  It  was  not  until  Alexander 
Duncan  spoke  to  me  last  week  that  I  thought  of  it  at  all." 

"  Yes,"  said  Wetherell. 

"  You  see,"  continued  Mr.  Merrill,  wiping  his  brow, 
for  he  found  the  matter  even  more  difficult  than  he  had 
imagined,  —  "  it  was  not  until  Duncan  told  me  how  you 
had  acted  in  his  library  that  I  guessed  the  truth  —  that  I 
remembered  myself  how  you  had  acted.  I  knew  that  you 


"CYNTHIA  LOVED   YOU"  211 

were  not  mixed  up  in  politics,  but  I  also  knew  that  you 
were  an  intimate  friend  of  Jethro's,  and  I  thought  that 
you  had  been  let  into  the  secret  of  the  woodchuck  session. 
I  don't  defend  the  game  of  politics  as  it  is  played,  Mr. 
Wetherell,  but  all  of  us  who  are  friends  of  Jethro's  are 
generally  willing  to  lend  a  hand  in  any  little  manoeuvre 
that  is  going  on,  and  have  a  practical  joke  when  we  can. 
It  was  not  until  I  saw  you  sitting  there  beside  Duncan 
that  the  idea  occurred  to  me.  It  didn't  make  a  great 
deal  of  difference  whether  Duncan  or  Lovejoy  got  to  the 
House  or  not,  provided  they  didn't  learn  of  the  matter  too 
early,  because  some  of  their  men  had  been  bought  off  that 
day.  It  suited  Jethro's  sense  of  humor  to  play  the  game 
that  way  —  and  it  was  very  effective.  When  I  saw  you 
there  beside  Duncan  I  remembered  that  he  had  spoken  about 
the  Cruardian  letters,  and  the  notion  occurred  to  me  to  get 
him  to  show  you  his  library.  I  have  explained  to  him 
that  you  were  innocent.  I  —  I  hope  you  haven't  been 
worrying." 

William  Wetherell  sat  very  still  for  a  while,  gazing  out 
of  the  window,  but  a  new  look  had  come  into  his  eyes. 

"  Jethro  Bass  did  not  know  that  you  —  that  you  had  — 
used  me?"  he  asked  at  length. 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Merrill,  thickly,  "no.  He  didn't  know 
a  thing  about  it  —  he  doesn't  know  it  now,  I  believe." 

A  smile  came  upon  Wetherell's  face,  but  Mr.  Merrill 
could  not  look  at  it. 

"  You  have  made  me  very  happy,"  said  the  storekeeper, 
tremulously.  "I  —  I  have  no  right  to  be  proud  —  I  have 
taken  his  money  —  he  has  supported  my  daughter  and 
myself  all  these  years.  But  he  had  never  asked  me  to  — 
to  do  anything,  and  I  liked  to  think  that  he  never  would." 

Mr.  Merrill  could  not  speak.  The  tears  were  stream 
ing  down  his  cheeks. 

"  I  want  you  to  promise  me,  Mr.  Merrill,"  he  went  on 
presently,  "  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  you  will  never 
speak  to  Jethro  of  this,  or  to  my  daughter,  Cynthia." 

Mr.  Merrill  merely  nodded  his  head  in  assent.  Still  he 
could  not  speak. 


212  CONISTON 

"  They  might  think  it  was  this  that  caused  my  death. 
It  was  not.  I  know  very  well  that  I  am  worn  out,  and 
that  I  should  have  gone  soon  in  any  case.  And  I  must 
leave  Cynthia  to  him.  He  loves  her  as  his  own  child." 

William  Wetherell,  his  faith  in  Jethro  restored,  was 
facing  death  as  he  had  never  faced  life.  Mr.  Merrill  was 
greatly  affected. 

"  You  must  not  speak  of  dying,  Wetherell,"  said  he, 
brokenly.  "  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,  now  that  you  have  ex 
plained  matters,  Mr.  Merrill,"  said  the  storekeeper,  and 
he  smiled  again.  "  If  my  fibre  had  been  a  little  tougher, 
this  thing  would  never  have  happened.  There  is  only  one 
more  request  I  have  to  make.  And  that  is,  to  assure  Mr. 
Duncan,  from  me,  that  I  did  not  detain  him  purposely." 

"  I  will  see  him  on  my  way  to  Boston,"  answered  Mr. 
Merrill. 

Then  Cynthia  was  called.  She  was  waiting  anxiously 
in  the  passage  for  the  interview  to  be  ended,  and  when 
she  came  in  one  glance  at  her  father's  face  told  her  that 
he  was  happier.  She,  too,  was  happier. 

"  I  wish  you  would  come  every  day,  Mr.  Merrill,"  she 
said,  when  they  descended  into  the  garden  after  the  three 
had  talked  awhile.  "  It  is  the  first  time  since  he  fell  ill 
that  he  seems  himself." 

Mr.  Merrill's  answer  was  to  take  her  hand  and  pat  it. 
He  sat  down  on  the  millstone  and  drew  a  deep  breath  of 
that  sparkling  air  and  sighed,  for  his  memory  ran  back 
to  his  own  innocent  boyhood  in  the  New  England  coun 
try.  He  talked  to  Cynthia  until  Jethro  came. 

"  I  have  taken  a  fancy  to  this  girl,  Jethro,"  said  the 
little  railroad  president,  "  I  believe  I'll  steal  her  ;  a  fellow 
can't  have  too  many  of  'em,  you  know.  I'll  tell  you  one 
thing,  —  you  won't  keep  her  always  shut  up  here  in  Con- 
iston.  She's  much  too  good  to  waste  on  the  desert  air." 
Perhaps  Mr.  Merrill,  too,  had  been  thinking  of  the  Elegy 
that  morning.  "I  don't  mean  to  run  down  Coniston  — 
it's  one  of  the  most  beautiful  places  I  ever  saw.  But  seri 
ously,  Jethro,  you  and  Wetherell  ought  to  send  her  to 


"CYNTHIA  LOVED  YOU"  213 

school  in  Boston  after  a  while.  She's  about  the  age  of 
my  girls,  and  she  can  live  in  my  house.  Ain't  I  right  ?  " 

"  D-don't  know  but  what  you  be,  Steve,"  Jethro  answered 
slowly. 

"  I  am  right,"  declared  Mr.  Merrill,  "  you'll  back  me 
in  this,  I  know  it.  Why,  she's  like  your  own  daughter. 
You  remember  what  I  say.  I  mean  it.  —  "What  are  you 
thinking  about,  Cynthia?" 

"  I  couldn't  leave  Dad  and  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said. 

"  Why,  bless  your  soul,"  said  Mr.  Merrill,  "  bring  Dad 
along.  We'll  find  room  for  him.  And  I  guess  Uncle 
Jethro  will  get  to  Boston  twice  a  month  if  you're  there." 

And  Mr.  Merrill  got  into  the  buggy  with  Mr.  Sherman 
and  drove  away  to  Brampton,  thinking  of  many  things. 

"  S-Steve's  a  good  man,"  said  Jethro.  "  C-come  up 
here  from  Brampton  to  see  your  father  —  did  he  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Cynthia,  "he  is  very  kind."  She 
was  about  to  tell  Jethro  what  a  strange  difference  this 
visit  had  made  in  her  father's  spirits,  but  some  instinct 
kept  her  silent.  She  knew  that  Jethro  had  never  ceased 
to  reproach  himself  for  inviting  Wetherell  to  the  capital, 
and  she  was  sure  that  something  had  happened  there 
which  had  disturbed  her  father  and  brought  on  that  fear 
ful  apathy.  But  the  apathy  was  dispelled  now,  and  she 
shrank  from  giving  Jethro  pain  by  mentioning  the  fact. 

He  never  knew,  indeed,  until  many  years  afterward, 
what  had  brought  Stephen  Merrill  to  Coniston.  When 
Jethro  went  up  the  stairs  that  afternoon,  he  found  William 
Wetherell  alone,  looking  out  over  the  garden  with  a  new 
peace  and  contentment  in  his  eyes.  Jethro  drew  breath 
when  he  saw  that  look,  as  if  a  great  load  had  been  lifted 
from  his  heart. 

"  F-feelin'  some  better  to-day,  Will  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  am  well  again,  Jethro,"  replied  the  storekeeper, 
pressing  Jethro's  hand  for  the  first  time  in  months. 

"  S-soon  be,  Will,"  said  Jethro,  "  s-soon  be." 

Wetherell,  who  was  not  speaking  of  the  welfare  of  the 
body,  did  not  answer. 

"  Jethro,"  he  said  presently,  "  there  is  a  little  box  lying 


214  CONISTON 

in  the  top  of  my  truiik  over  there  in  the  corner.  Will  you 
get  it  for  me  ?  " 

Jethro  rose  and  opened  the  rawhide  trunk  and  handed 
the  little  rosewood  box  to  his  friend.  Wetherell  took  it 
and  lifted  the  lid  reverently,  with  that  same  smile  on  his 
face  and  far-off  look  in  his  eyes,  and  drew  out  a  small 
daguerreotype  in  a  faded  velvet  frame.  He  gazed  at  the 
picture  a  long  time,  and  then  he  held  it  out  to  Jethro  ; 
and  Jethro  looked  at  it,  and  his  hand  trembled. 

It  was  a  picture  of  Cynthia  Ware.  And  who  can  say 
what  emotions  it  awoke  in  Jethro's  heart  ?  She  was  older 
than  the  Cynthia  he  had  known,  and  yet  she  did  not  seem 
so.  There  was  the  same  sweet,  virginal  look  in  the  gray 
eyes,  and  the  same  exquisite  purity  in  the  features.  He 
saw  her  again  —  as  if  it  were  yesterday  —  walking  in  the 
golden  green  light  under  the  village  maples,  and  himself 
standing  in  the  tannery  door  ;  he  saw  the  face  under  the 
poke  bonnet  on  the  road  to  Brampton,  and  heard  the 
thrush  singing  in  the  woods.  And  —  if  he  could  only 
blot  out  that  scene  from  his  life  !  —  remembered  her,  a 
transformed  Cynthia,  —  remembered  that  face  in  the  lan 
tern-light  when  he  had  flung  back  the  hood  that  shaded 
it ;  and  that  hair  which  he  had  kissed,  wet,  then,  from  the 
sleet.  Ah,  God,  for  that  briefest  of  moments  she  had 
been  his  ! 

So  he  stared  at  the  picture  as  it  lay  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand,  and  forgot  him  who  had  been  her  husband.  But  at 
length  he  started,  as  from  a  dream,  and  gave  it  back  to 
Wetherell,  who  was  watching  him.  Her  name  had  never 
been  mentioned  between  the  two  men,  and  yet  she  had 
been  the  one  woman  in  the  world  to  both. 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  William  Wetherell,  "  it  is  strange 
that  I  should  have  had  but  two  friends  in  my  life,  and  that 
she  should  have  been  one  and  you  the  other.  She  found 
me  destitute  and  brought  me  back  to  life  and  married  me, 
and  cared  for  me  until  she  died.  And  after  that  —  you 
cared  for  me." 

"  You  —  you  mustn't  think  of  that,  Will,  'twahn't  much 
what  I  did  —  no  more  than  any  one  else  would  hev  done." 


"CYNTHIA  LOVED  YOU"  215 

"  It  was  everything,"  answered  the  storekeeper,  simply  ; 
"  each  of  you  came  between  me  and  destruction.  There 
is  something  that  I  have  always  meant  to  tell  you,  Jethro, 

—  something  that  it  may  be  a  comfort  for  you  to  know. 
Cynthia  loved  you." 

Jethro  Bass  did  not  answer.  He  got  up  and  stood  in 
the  window,  looking  out. 

"  When  she  married  me,"  Wetherell  continued  steadily, 
"  she  told  me  that  there  was  one  whom  she  had  never  been 
able  to  drive  from  her  heart.  And  one  summer  evening,  — 
how  well  I  recall  it !  —  we  were  walking  under  the  trees 
on  the  Mall  and  we  met  my  old  employer,  Mr.  Judson, 
the  jeweller.  He  put  me  in  mind  of  the  young  country 
man  who  had  come  in  to  buy  a  locket,  and  I  asked  her  if 
she  knew  you.  Strange  that  I  should  have  remembered 
your  name,  wasn't  it  ?  It  was  then  that  she  led  me  to  a 
bench  and  confessed  that  you  were  the  man  whom  she 
could  not  forget.  I  used  to  hate  you  then —  as  much  as 
was  in  me  to  hate.  I  hated  and  feared  you  when  I  first 
came  to  Coniston.  But  now  I  can  tell  you — I  can  even 
be  happy  in  telling  you." 

Jethro  Bass  groaned.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  throat  as 
though  he  were  stifling.  Many,  many  years  ago  he  had 
worn  the  locket  there.  And  now  ?  Now  an  impulse 
seized  him,  and  he  yielded  to  it.  He  thrust  his  hand  in 
his  coat  and  drew  out  a  cowhide  wallet,  and  from  the 
wallet  the  oval  locket  itself.  There  it  was,  tarnished  with 
age,  but  with  that  memorable  inscription  still  legible, 

—  "Cynthy,  from  Jethro";    not    Cynthia,  but    Cynthy. 
How  the  years  fell  away  as  he  read  it  !     He  handed  it  in 
silence  to  the  storekeeper,  and  in  silence  went  to  the  win 
dow  again.     Jethro  Bass  was  a  man  who  could  find  no 
outlet  for  his  agony  in  speech  or  tears. 

"  Yes,"  said  Wetherell,  "  I  thought  you  would  have 
kept  it.  Dear,  dear,  how  well  I  remember  it  !  And  I 
remember  how  I  patronized  you  when  you  came  into  the 
shop.  I  believed  I  should  live  to  be  something  in  the 
world,  then.  Yes,  she  loved  you,  Jethro.  I  can  die 
more  easily  now  that  I  have  told  you  — it  has  been  on  my 
mind  all  these  years." 


216  CONISTON 

The  locket  fell  open  in  William  Wetherell's  hand,  for 
the  clasp  had  become  worn  with  time,  and  there  was  a 
picture  of  little  Cynthia  within:  of  little  Cynthia, — not  so 
little  now,  —  a  photograph  taken  in  Brampton  the  year 
before.  Wetherell  laid  it  beside  the  daguerreotype. 

"She  looks  like  her,  he  said  aloud;  "but  the  child  is 
more  vigorous,  more  human — less  like  a  spirit.  I  have 
always  thought  of  Cynthia  Ware  as  a  spirit." 

Jethro  turned  at  the  words,  and  came  and  stood  looking 
over  Wetherell's  shoulder  at  the  pictures  of  mother  and 
daughter.  In  the  rosewood  box  was  a  brooch  and  a  gold 
ring — Cynthia  Ware's  wedding  ring — and  two  small  slips 
of  yellow  paper.  William  Wetherell  opened  one  of  these, 
disclosing  a  little  braid  of  brown  hair.  He  folded  the 
paper  again  and  laid  it  in  the  locket,  and  handed  that  to 
Jethro. 

"  It  is  all  I  have  to  give  you,"  he  said,  "  but  I  know 
that  you  will  cherish  it,  and  cherish  her,  when  I  am  gone. 
She  —  she  has  been  a  daughter  to  both  of  us." 

"Yes,"  said  Jethro,  "  I  will." 

William  Wetherell  lived  but  a  few  days  longer.  They 
laid  him  to  rest  at  last  in  the  little  ground  which  Captain 
Timothy  Prescott  had  hewn  out  of  the  forest  with  his  axe, 
where  Captain  Timothy  himself  lies  under  his  slate  head 
stone  with  the  quaint  lettering  of  bygone  days.  That 
same  autumn  Jethro  Bass  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Boston, 
and  now  Cynthia  Ware  sleeps  there,  too,  beside  her  hus 
band,  amid  the  scenes  she  loved  so  well. 


BOOK  II 

CHAPTER   I 

IN   THE   TANNERY   HOUSE 

ONE  day,  in  the  November  following  William  Wetherell's 
death,  Jethro  Bass  astonished  Coniston  by  moving  to  the 
little  cottage  in  the  village  which  stood  beside  the  disused 
tannery,  and  which  had  been  his  father's.  It  was  known 
as  the  tannery  house.  His  reasons  for  this  step,  when  at 
length  discovered,  were  generally  commended :  they  were, 
in  fact,  a  disinclination  to  leave  a  girl  of  Cynthia's  tender 
age  alone  on  Thousand  Acre  Hill  while  he  journeyed  on 
his  affairs  about  the  country.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Satterlee, 
gaunt,  red-faced,  but  the  six  feet  of  him  a  man  and  a 
Christian,  from  his  square-toed  boots  to  the  bleaching 
yellow  hair  around  his  temples,  offered  to  become  her 
teacher.  For  by  this  time  Cynthia  had  exhausted  the 
resources  of  the  little  school  among  the  birches. 

The  four  years  of  her  life  in  the  tannery  house  which 
are  now  briefly  to  be  chronicled  were,  for  her,  full  of 
happiness  and  peace.  Though  the  young  may  sorrow, 
they  do  not  often  mourn.  Cynthia  missed  her  father  ; 
at  times,  when  the  winds  kept  her  wakeful  at  night,  she 
wept  for  him.  But  she  loved  Jethro  Bass  and  served 
him  with  a  devotion  that  filled  his  heart  with  strange 
ecstasies  —  yes,  and  forebodings.  In  all  his  existence  he 
had  never  known  a  love  like  this.  He  may  have  im 
agined  it  once,  back  in  the  bright  days  of  his  youth; 
but  the  dreams  of  its  fulfilment  had  fallen  far  short  of  the 
exquisite  touch  of  the  reality  in  which  he  now  spent  his 
days  at  home.  In  summer,  when  she  sat,  in  the  face  of 
all  the  conventions  of  the  village,  reading  under  the  but- 

217 


218  CONISTON 

ternut  tree  before  the  house,  she  would  feel  his  eyes  upon 
her,  and  the  mysterious  yearning  in  them  would  startle 
her.  Often  during  her  lessons  with  Mr.  Satterlee  in  the 
parlor  of  the  parsonage  she  would  hear  a  noise  outside 
and  perceive  Jethro  leaning  against  the  pillar.  Both 
Cynthia  and  Mr.  Satterlee  knew  that  he  was  there,  and 
both,  by  a  kind  of  tacit  agreement,  ignored  the  circum 
stance. 

Cynthia,  in  this  period,  undertook  Jethro's  education, 
too.  She  could  have  induced  him  to  study  the  making 
of  Latin  verse  by  the  mere  asking.  During  those  days 
which  he  spent  at  home,  and  which  he  had  grown  to 
value  beyond  price,  he  might  have  been  seen  seated  on 
the  ground  with  his  back  to  the  butternut  tree  while 
Cynthia  read  aloud  from  the  well-worn  books  which  had 
been  her  father's  treasures,  —  books  that  took  on  marvels 
of  meaning  from  her  lips.  Cynthia's  powers  of  selection 
were  not  remarkable  at  this  period,  and  perhaps  it  was  as 
well  that  she  never  knew  the  effect  of  the  various  works 
upon  the  hitherto  untamed  soul  of  her  listener.  Milton  and 
Tennyson  and  Longfellow  awoke  in  him  by  their  very  music 
troubled  and  half -formed  regrets  ;  Carlyle's  "  Frederick 
the  Great "  set  up  tumultuous  imaginings  ;  but  the  "  Life 
of  Jackson"  (as  did  the  story  of  Napoleon  long  ago) 
stirred  all  that  was  masterful  in  his  blood.  Unlettered 
as  he  was,  Jethro  had  a  power  which  often  marks  the 
American  of  action  —  a  singular  grasp  of  the  application 
of  any  sentence  or  paragraph  to  his  own  life  ;  and  often, 
about  this  time,  he  took  away  the  breath  of  a  judge  or 
a  senator  by  flinging  at  them  a  chunk  of  Carlyle  or 
Parton. 

It  was  perhaps  as  well  that  Cynthia  was  not  a  woman 
at  this  time,  and  that  she  had  grown  up  with  him,  as  it 
were.  His  love,  indeed,  was  that  of  a  father  for  a  daugh 
ter  ;  but  it  held  within  it  as  a  core  the  revived  love  of  his 
youth  for  Cynthia,  her  mother.  Tender  as  were  the 
manifestations  of  this  love,  Cynthia  never  guessed  the 
fires  within,  for  there  was  in  truth  something  primeval  in 
the  fierceness  of  his  passion.  She  was  his  now  —  his 


IN  THE  TANNERY  HOUSE  219 

alone,  to  cherish  and  sweeten  the  declining  years  of  his 
life,  and  when  by  a  chance  Jethro  looked  upon  her  and 
thought  of  the  suitor  who  was  to  come  in  the  fulness  of 
her  years,  he  burned  with  a  hatred  which  it  is  given  few 
men  to  feel.  It  was  well  for  Jethro  that  these  thoughts 
came  not  often. 

Sometimes,  in  the  summer  afternoons,  they  took  long 
drives  through  the  town  behind  Jethro's  white  horse  on 
business.  "  Jethro's  gal,"  as  Cynthia  came  to  be  affection 
ately  called,  held  the  reins  while  Jethro  went  in  to  talk  to 
the  men  folk.  One  August  evening  found  Cynthia  thus 
beside  a  poplar  in  front  of  Amos  Cuthbert's  farmhouse, 
a  poplar  that  shimmered  green-gold  in  the  late  afternoon, 
and  from  the  buggy-seat  Cynthia  looked  down  upon  a 
thousand  purple  hilltops  and  mountain  peaks  of  another 
state.  The  view  aroused  in  the  girl  visions  of  the  many 
wonders  which  life  was  to  hold,  and  she  did  not  hear  the 
sharp  voice  beside  her  until  the  woman  had  spoken  twice. 
Jethro  came  out  in  the  middle  of  the  conversation,  nodded 
to  Mrs.  Cuthbert,  and  drove  off. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  asked  Cynthia,  presently,  "  what  is 
a  mortgage  ?  " 

Jethro  struck  the  horse  with  the  whip,  an  uncom 
mon  action  with  him,  and  the  buggy  was  jerked  forward 
sharply  over  the  boulders. 

"Er —  who's  b'en  talkin'  about  mortgages,  Cynthy?" 
he  demanded. 

"  Mrs.  Cuthbert  said  that  when  folks  had  mortgages 
held  over  them  they  had  to  take  orders  whether  they  liked 
them  or  not.  She  said  that  Amos  had  to  do  what  you 
told  him  because  there  was  a  mortgage.  That  isn't  so, 
is  it  ?  " 

Jethro  did  not  speak.  Presently  Cynthia  laid  her 
hand  over  his. 

"  Mrs.  Cuthbert  is  a  spiteful  woman,"  she  said.  "  I  know 
the  reason  why  people  obey  you  —  it's  because  you're  so 
great.  And  Daddy  used  to  tell  me  so." 

A  tremor  shook  Jethro's  frame  and  the  hand  on  which 
hers  rested,  and  all  the  way  down  the  mountain  valleys 


220  CONISTON 

to  Coniston  village  he  did  not  speak  again.  But  Cynthia 
was  used  to  his  silences,  and  respected  them. 

To  Ephraim  Prescott,  who,  as  the  days  went  on,  found 
it  more  and  more  difficult  to  sew  harness  on  account  of 
his  rheumatism,  Jethro  was  not  only  a  great  man  but  a 
hero.  For  Cynthia  was  vaguely  troubled  at  having  found 
one  discontent.  She  was  wont  to  entertain  Ephraim  on 
the  days  when  his  hands  failed  him,  when  he  sat  sunning 
himself  before  his  door;  and  she  knew  that  he  was  honest. 

"  Who's  b'en  talkin'to  you,  Cynthia  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Why, 
Jethro's  the  biggest  man  I  know,  and  the  best.  I  don't 
like  to  think  where  some  of  us  would  have  b'en  if  he 
hadn't  given  us  a  lift." 

"  But  he  has  enemies,  Cousin  Eph,"  said  Cynthia,  still 
troubled. 

"  What  great  man  hain't  ? "  exclaimed  the  soldier. 
"Jethro's  enemies  hain't  worth  thinkin'  about." 

The  thought  that  Jethro  had  enemies  was  very  painful 
to  Cynthia,  and  she  wanted  to  know  who  they  were  that 
she  might  show  them  a  proper  contempt  if  she  met  them. 
Lem  Hallowell  brushed  aside  the  subject  with  his  usual 
bluff  humor,  and  pinched  her  cheek  and  told  her  not  to 
trouble  her  head  ;  Amanda  Hatch  dwelt  upon  the  in 
herent  weakness  in  the  human  race,  and  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Satterlee  faced  the  question  once,  during  a  history  lesson. 
The  nation's  heroes  came  into  inevitable  comparison  with 
Jethro  Bass.  Was  Washington  so  good  a  man  ?  and 
would  not  Jethro  have  been  as  great  as  the  Father  of  his 
Country  if  he  had  had  the  opportunities  ? 

The  answers  sorely  tried  Mr.  Satterlee's  conscience, 
albeit  he  was  not  a  man  of  the  world.  It  set  him  think 
ing.  He  liked  Jethro,  this  man  of  rugged  power  whose 
word  had  become  law  in  the  state.  He  knew  best  that 
side  of  him  which  Cynthia  saw;  and — if  the  truth  be  told — 
as  a  native  of  Coniston  Mr.  Satterlee  felt  in  the  bottom  of 
his  heart  a  certain  pride  in  Jethro.  The  minister's  opinions 
well  represented  the  attitude  of  his  time.  He  had  not 
given  thought  to  the  subject  —  for  such  matters  had 
come  to  be  taken  for  granted.  A  politician  now  was  a 


IN  THE  TANNERY  HOUSE  221 

politician,  his  ways  and  standards  set  apart  from  those  of 
other  citizens,  and  not  to  be  judged  by  men  without  the  pale 
of  public  life.  Mr.  Satterlee  in  his  limited  vision  did  not 
then  trace  the  matter  to  its  source,  did  not  reflect  that 
Jethro  Bass  himself  was  almost  wholly  responsible  in  that 
state  for  the  condition  of  politics  and  politicians.  Conis- 
ton  was  proud  of  Jethro,  prouder  of  him  than  ever  since 
his  last  great  victory  in  the  Legislature,  which  brought  the 
Truro  Railroad  through  to  Harwich  and  settled  their  towns 
man  more  firmly  than  ever  before  in  the  seat  of  power. 
Every  statesman  who  drove  into  their  little  mountain 
village  and  stopped  at  the  tannery  house  made  their  blood 
beat  faster.  Senators  came,  and  representatives,  and 
judges,  and  governors,  "  to  git  their  orders,"  as  Rias 
Richardson  briefly  put  it,  and  Jethro  could  make  or  un 
make  them  at  a  word.  Each  was  scanned  from  the  store 
where  Rias  now  reigned  supreme,  and  from  the  harness  shop 
across  the  road.  Some  drove  away  striving  to  bite  from 
their  lips  the  tell-tale  smile  which  arose  in  spite  of  them: 
others  tried  to  look  happy,  despite  the  sentence  of  doom  to 
which  they  had  listened. 

Jethro  Bass  was  indeed  a  great  man  to  make  such  as 
these  tremble  or  rejoice.  When  he  went  abroad  with 
Cynthia  awheel  or  afoot,  some  took  off  their  hats  — 
an  unheard-of  thing  in  Comston.  If  he  stopped  at  the 
store,  they  scanned  his  face  for  the  mood  he  was  in  before 
venturing  their  remarks  ;  if  he  lingered  for  a  moment  in 
front  of  the  house  of  Amanda  Hatch,  the  whole  village 
was  advised  of  the  circumstance  before  nightfall. 

Two  personages  worthy  of  mention  here  visited  the 
tannery  house  during  the  years  that  Cynthia  lived  with 
Jethro.  The  Honorable  Heth  Sutton  drove  over  from 
Clovelly  attended  by  his  prims  minister,  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby. 
The  Honorable  Heth  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  the  smile 
with  which  he  went  away,  and  he  stopped  at  the  store  long 
enough  to  enable  Rias  to  produce  certain  refreshments 
from  depths  unknown  to  the  United  States  Internal 
Revenue  authorities.  Mr.  Sutton  shook  hands  with  every 
body,  including  Jake  Wheeler.  Well  he  might.  He  came 


222  CONISTON 

to  Coniston  a  private  citizen,  and  drove  away  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  a  congressman:  the  darling  wish  of  his  life 
realized  after  heaven  knows  how  many  caucuses  and  con 
ventions  of  disappointment,  when  Jethro  had  judged  it 
expedient  for  one  reason  or  another  that  a  north  country 
man  should  go.  By  the  time  the  pair  reached  Brampton, 
Chamberlain  Bixby  was  introducing  his  chief  as  Congress 
man  Sutton,  and  by  this  title  he  was  known  for  many 
years  to  come. 

Another  day,  when  the  snow  lay  in  great  billows  on  the 
ground  and  filled  the  mountain  valleys,  when  the  pines 
were  rusty  from  the  long  winter,  two  other  visitors  drove 
to  Coniston  in  a  two-horse  sleigh.  The  sun  was  shining 
brightly,  the  wind  held  its  breath,  and  the  noon-day  warmth 
was  almost  like  that  of  spring.  Those  who  know  the  moun 
tain  country  will  remember  the  joy  of  many  such  days.  Cyn 
thia,  standing  in  the  sun  on  the  porch,  breathing  deep  of 
the  pure  air,  recognized,  as  the  sleigh  drew  near,  the  some 
what  portly  gentleman  driving,  and  the  young  woman 
beside  him  regally  clad  in  furs  who  looked  patronizingly 
at  the  tannery  house  as  she  took  the  reins.  The  young 
woman  was  Miss  Cassandra  Hopkins,  and  the  portly 
gentleman,  the  Honorable  Alva  himself,  patron  of  the 
drama,  who  had  entered  upon  his  governorship  and  now 
wished  to  be  senator. 

"  Jethro  Bass  home  ?  "  he  called  out. 

"  Mr.  Bass  is  home,"  answered  Cynthia.  The  girl  in 
the  sleigh  murmured  something,  laughing  a  little,  and 
Cynthia  flushed.  Mr.  Hopkins  gave  a  somewhat  peremp 
tory  knock  at  the  door  and  was  admitted  by  Millicent 
Skinner,  but  Cynthia  stood  staring  at  Cassandra  in  the 
sleigh,  some  instinct  warning  her  of  a  coming  skirmish. 

"  Do  you  live  here  all  the  year  round  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Cynthia. 

Miss  Cassandra  shrugged  as  though  that  were  beyond 
her  comprehension. 

"  I'd  die  in  a  place  like  this,"  she  said.  "  No  balls,  or 
theatres.  Doesn't  your  father  take  you  around  the 
state?" 


IN  THE  TANNERY  HOUSE  223 

"  My  father's  dead,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  Oh  !  Your  name's  Cynthia  Wetherell,  isn't  it  ?  You 
know  Bob  Worthington,  don't  you  ?  He's  gone  to  Har 
vard  now,  but  he  was  a  great  friend  of  mine  at  Andover." 

Cynthia  didn't  answer.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  say 
that  she  felt  a  pang,  though  it  might  add  to  the  romance 
of  this  narrative.  But  her  dislike  for  the  girl  in  the 
sleigh  decidedly  increased.  How  was  she,  in  her  inex 
perience,  to  know  that  the  radiant  beauty  in  furs  was  what 
the  boys  at  Phillips  Andover  called  an  "old  stager." 

"  So  you  live  with  Jethro  Bass,"  was  Miss  Cassandra's 
next  remark.  "  He's  rich  enough  to  take  you  round  the 
state  and  give  you  everything  you  want." 

"  I  have  everything  I  want,"  replied  Cynthia. 

"  I  shouldn't  call  living  here  having  everything  I 
wanted,"  declared  Miss  Hopkins,  with  a  contemptuous 
glance  at  the  tannery  house. 

"  I  suppose  you  wouldn't,"  said  Cynthia. 

Miss  Hopkins  was  nettled.  She  was  out  of  humor  that 
day,  besides  she  shared  some  of  her  father's  political 
ambition.  If  he  went  to  Washington,  she  went  too. 

"  Didn't  you  know  Jethro  Bass  was  rich  ?  "  she  demanded, 
imprudently.  "Why,  my  father  gave  twenty  thousand 
dollars  to  be  governor,  and  Jethro  Bass  must  have  got 
half  of  it." 

Cynthia's  eyes  were  of  that  peculiar  gray  which,  lighted 
by  love  or  anger,  once  seen,  are  never  forgotten.  One 
hand  was  on  the  dashboard  of  the  cutter,  the  other  had 
seized  the  seat.  Her  voice  was  steady,  and  the  three 
words  she  spoke  struck  Miss  Hopkins  with  startling  effect. 

Miss  Hopkins's  breath  was  literally  taken  away,  and  for 
once  she  found  no  retort.  Let  it  be  said  for  her  that  this 
was  a  new  experience  with  a  new  creature.  A  demure 
country  girl  turn  into  a  wildcat  before  her  very  eyes  ! 
Perhaps  it  was  as  well  for  both  that  the  door  of  the  house 
opened  and  the  Honorable  Alva  interrupted  their  talk, 
and  without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  Cynthia  he  got 
hurriedly  into  the  sleigh  and  drove  off.  When  Cynthia 
turned,  the  points  of  color  still  high  in  her  cheeks  and  the 


224  CONISTON 

light  still  ablaze  in  her  eyes,  she  surprised  Jethro  gazing 
at  her  from  the  porch,  and  some  sorrow  she  felt  rather  than 
beheld  stopped  the  confession  on  her  lips.  It  would  be 
unworthy  of  her  even  to  repeat  such  slander,  and  the 
color  surged  again  into  her  face  for  very  shame  of  her 
anger.  Cassandra  Hopkins  had  not  been  worthy  of  it. 

Jethro  did  not  speak,  but  slipped  his  hand  into  hers, 
and  thus  they  stood  for  a  long  time  gazing  at  the  snow 
fields  between  the  pines  on  the  heights  of  Coniston. 

The  next  summer  was  the  first  which  the  painter  — 
pioneer  of  summer  visitors  there  —  spent  at  Coniston. 
He  was  an  unsuccessful  painter,  who  became,  by  a  process 
which*  he  himself  does  not  to-day  completely  understand, 
a  successful  writer  of  novels.  As  a  character,  however,  he 
himself  confesses  his  inadequacy,  and  the  chief  interest  in 
him  for  the  readers  of  this  narrative  is  that  he  fell  deeply 
in  love  with  Cynthia  Wetherell  at  nineteen.  It  is  fair  to 
mention  in  passing  that  other  young  men  were  in  love 
with  Cynthia  at  this  time,  notably  Eben  Hatch  —  history 
repeating  itself.  Once,  in  a  moment  of  madness,  Eben 
confessed  his  love,  the  painter  never  did :  and  he  has  to 
this  day  a  delicious  memory  which  has  made  Cynthia  the 
heroine  of  many  of  his  stories.  He  boarded  with  Chester 
Perkins,  and  he  was  humored  by  the  village  as  a  harm 
less  but  amiable  lunatic. 

The  painter  had  never  conceived  that  a  New  England 
conscience  and  a  temper  of  no  mean  proportions  could 
dwell  together  in  the  body  of  a  wood  nymph.  When  he 
had  first  seen  Cynthia  among  the  willows  by  Coniston 
Water,  he  had  thought  her  a  wood  nymph.  But  she 
scolded  him  for  his  impropriety  with  so  unerring  a  choice 
of  words  that  he  fell  in  love  with  her  intellect,  too.  He 
spent  much  of  his  time  to  the  neglect  of  his  canvases 
under  the  butternut  tree  in  front  of  Jethro's  house  trying 
to  persuade  Cynthia  to  sit  for  her  portrait ;  and  if  Jethro 
himself  had  not  overheard  one  of  these  arguments,  the  por 
trait  never  would  have  been  painted.  Jethro  focussed  a 
look  upon  the  painter. 

"  Er  —  painter-man,  be  you  ?    Paint  Cynthy's  picture  ?  " 


IN  THE  TANNERY  HOUSE  225 

"But  I  don't  want  to  be  painted,  Uncle  Jethro.  I 
won't  be  painted !  " 

"H-how  much  for  a  good  picture?  Er — only  want 
the  best  —  only  want  the  best." 

The  painter  said  a  few  things,  with  pardonable  heat,  to 
the  effect  —  well,  never  mind  the  effect.  His  remarks  made 
no  impression  whatever  upon  Jethro. 

"  Er  —  paint  the  picture  —  paint  the  picture,  and  then 
we'll  talk  about  the  price.  Er  —  wait  a  minute." 

He  went  into  the  house,  and  they  heard  him  lumbering 
up  the  stairs.  Cynthia  sat  with  her  back  to  the  artist, 
pretending  to  read,  but  presently  she  turned  to  him. 

"  I'll  never  forgive  you  —  never,  as  long  as  I  live,"  she 
cried,  "  and  I  won't  be  painted  !  " 

"  N-not  to  please  me,  Cynthy?  "     It  was  Jethro's  voice. 

Her  look  softened.  She  laid  down  the  book  and  went 
up  to  him  on  the  porch  and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Do  you  really  want  it  so  much  as  all  that,  Uncle 
Jethro  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Callate  I  do,  Cynthy,"  he  answered.  He  held  a  bun 
dle  covered  with  newspaper  in  his  hand,  he  looked  down 
at  Cynthia. 

He  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  porch  and  for 
the  moment  seemed  lost  in  re  very.  Then  he  began  slowly 
to  unwrap  the  newspaper  from  the  bandle:  there  were 
five  layers  of  it,  but  at  length  he  disclosed  a  bolt  of 
cardinal  cloth. 

"  Call  this  to  mind,  Cynthy  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  with  a  smile. 

"  H-how's  this  for  the  dress,  Mr.  Painter-man  ?  "  said 
Jethro,  with  a  pride  that  was  ill-concealed. 

The  painter  started  up  from  his  seat  and  took  the  ma 
terial  in  his  hands  and  looked  at  Cynthia.  He  belonged 
to  a  city  club  where  he  was  popular  for  his  knack  of  de 
vising  costumes,  and  a  vision  of  Cynthia  as  the  daughter 
of  a  Doge  of  Venice  arose  before  his  eyes.  Wonder  of 
wonders,  the  daughter  of  a  Doge  discovered  in  a  New 
England  hill  village!  The  painter  seized  his  pad  and 
pencil  and  with  a  few  strokes,  guided  by  inspiration, 


226  CONISTON 

sketched  the  costume  then  and  there  and  held  it  up  to 
Jethro,  who  blinked  at  it  in  astonishment.  But  Jethro 
was  suspicious  of  his  own  sensations. 

"E'r  —  well  —  Godfrey — g-guess  that'll  do."  Then 
came  the  involuntary :  "  W-wouldn't  a-thought  you  had 
it  in  you.  How  about  it,  Cynthy  ?  "  and  he  held  it  up 
for  her  inspection. 

"  If  you  are  pleased,  it's  all  I  care  about,  Uncle  Jethro," 
she  answered,  and  then,  her  face  suddenly  flushing,  "  You 
must  promise  me  on  your  honor  that  nobody  in  Coniston 
shall  know  about  it,  'Mr.  Painter-man.' ' 

After  this  she  always  called  him  "  Mr.  Painter-man," 
—  when  she  was  pleased  with  him. 

So  the  cardinal  cloth  was  come  to  its  usefulness  at  last. 
It  was  inevitable  that  Sukey  Kittredge,  the  village  seam 
stress,  should  be  taken  into  confidence.  It  was  no  small 
thing  to  take  Sukey  into  confidence,  for  she  was  the  legiti 
mate  successor  in  more  ways  than  one  of  Speedy  Bates, 
and  much  of  Cynthia  and  the  artist's  ingenuity  was  spent 
upon  devising  a  form  of  oath  which  would  hold  Sukey 
silent.  Sukey,  however,  got  no  small  consolation  from 
the  sense  of  the  greatness  of  the  trust  confided  in  her,  and 
of  the  uproar  she  could  make  in  Coniston  if  she  chose. 
The  painter,  to  do  him  justice,  was  the  real  dressmaker, 
and  did  everything  except  cut  the  cloth  and  sew  it  together. 
He  sent  to  friends  of  his  in  the  city  for  certain  paste 
jewels  and  ornaments,  and  one  day  Cynthia  stood  in  the 
old  tannery  shed  —  hastily  transformed  into  a  studio  — 
before  a  variously  moved  audience.  Sukey,  having  ad 
justed  the  last  pin,  became  hysterical  over  her  handiwork, 
Millicent  Skinner  stared  open-mouthed,  words  having 
failed  her  for  once,  and  Jethro  thrust  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  in  a  quiet  ecstasy  of  approbation. 

"A-always  had  a  notion  that  cloth'd  set  you  off, 
Cynthy,"  said  he,  "  er  —  next  time  I  go  to  the  state  capi 
tal  you  come  along  —  g-guess  it'll  surprise  'em  some." 

"  I  guess  it  would,  Uncle  Jethro,"  said  Cynthia,  laugh 
ing. 

Jethro  postponed  two  political  trips  of  no  small  import- 


IN  THE  TANNERY  HOUSE  227 

ance  to  be  present  at  the  painting  of  that  picture,  and  he 
would  sit  silently  by  the  hour  in  a  corner  of  the  shed 
watching  every  stroke  of  the  brush.  Never  stood  Doge's 
daughter  in  her  jewels  and  seed  pearls  amidst  stranger 
surroundings,  —  the  beam,  and  the  centre  post  around 
which  the  old  white  horse  had  toiled  in  times  gone  by,  and 
all  the  piled-Kp,  disused  machinery  of  forgotten  days. 
And  never  was  Venetian  lady  more  unconscious  of  her 
environment  than  Cynthia. 

The  portrait  was  of  the  head  and  shoulders  alone,  and 
when  he  had  given  it  the  last  touch,  the  painter  knew  that, 
for  once  in  his  life,  he  had  done  a  good  thing.  Never  be 
fore,  perhaps,  had  the  fire  of  such  inspiration  been  given 
him.  Jethro,  who  expressed  himself  in  terms  (for  him) 
of  great  enthusiasm,  was  for  going  to  Boston  immediately 
to  purchase  a  frame  commensurate  with  the  importance  of 
such  a  work  of  art,  but  the  artist  had  his  own  views  on 
that  subject  and  sent  to  New  York  for  this  also. 

The  day  after  the  completion  of  the  picture  a  rugged 
figure  in  rawhide  boots  and  coonskin  cap  approached 
Chester  Perkins's  house,  knocked  at  the  door,  and  inquired 
for  the  "Painter-man."  It  was  Jethro.  The  "Painter- 
man  "  forthwith  went  out  into  the  rain  behind  the  shed, 
where  a  somewhat  curious  colloquy  took  place. 

"  G-guess  I'm  willin'  to  pay  you  full  as  much  as  it's 
worth,"  said  Jethro,  producing  a  cowhide  wallet.  "  Er  — 
what  figure  do  you  allow  it  comes  to  with  the  frame  ?  " 

The  artist  was  past  taking  offence,  since  Jethro  had 
long  ago  become  for  him  an  engrossing  study. 

"  I  will  send  you  the  bill  for  the  frame,  Mr.  Bass,"  he 
said,  "the  picture  belongs  to  Cynthia." 

"Earn  your  livin'  by  paintin',  don't  you  —  earn  your 
livin'?" 

The  painter  smiled  a  little  bitterly. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  if  I  did,  I  shouldn't  be  —  alive.  Mr. 
Bass,  have  you  ever  done  anything  the  pleasure  of  doing 
which  was  pay  enough,  and  to  spare  ?  " 

Jethro  looked  at  him,  and  something  very  like  admira 
tion  came  into  the  face  that  was  normally  expressionless. 


228  CONISTON 

He  put  up  his  wallet  a  little  awkwardly,  and  held  out 
his  hand  more  awkwardly. 

"  You  be  more  of  a  feller  than  I  thought  for,"  he  said, 
and  strode  off  through  the  drizzle  toward  Coniston.  The 
painter  walked  slowly  to  the  kitchen,  where  Chester 
Perkins  and  his  wife  were  sitting  down  to  supper. 

"  Jethro  got  a  mortgage  on  you,  too  ?  "  asked  Chester. 

The  artist  had  his  reward,  for  when  the  picture  was 
hung  at  length  in  the  little  parlor  of  the  tannery  house 
it  became  a  source  of  pride  to  Coniston  second  only  to 
Jethro  himself. 


CHAPTER   II 

CHIEFLY   CONCERNING   THE   NATIONAL   GAME 

TIME  passes,  and  the  engines  of  the  Truro  Railroad 
are  now  puffing  in  and  out  of  the  yards  of  Worthington's 
mi]  la  in  Brampton,  and  a  fine  layer  of  dust  covers  the  old 
green  stage  which  has  worn  the  road  for  so  many  years 
over  Truro  Gap.  If  you  are  ever  in  Brampton,  you  can 
still  see  the  stage,  if  you  care  to  go  into  the  back  of  what 
was  once  Jim  Sanborn's  livery  stable,  now  owned  by  Mr. 
Sherman  of  the  Brampton  House. 

Conventions  and  elections  had  come  and  gone,  and  the 
Honorable  Heth  Sutton  had  departed  triumphantly  to 
Washington,  cheered  by  his  neighbors  in  Clovelly.  Cham 
berlain  Bixby  was  left  in  charge  there,  supreme.  Who 
could  be  more  desirable  as  a  member  of  Congress  than 
Mr.  Sutton,  who  had  so  ably  served  his  party  (and 
Jethro)  by  holding  the  House  against  the  insurgents  in 
the  matter  of  the  Truro  Bill  ?  Mr.  Sutton  was,  moreover, 
a  gentleman,  an  owner  of  cattle  and  land,  a  man  of  sub 
stance  whom  lesser  men  were  proud  to  mention  as  a 
friend  —  a  very  hill-Rajah  with  stock  in  railroads  and 
other  enterprises,  who  owed  allegiance  and  paid  tribute 
alone  to  the  Great  Man  of  Coniston. 

Mr.  Sutton  was  one  who  would  make  himself  felt  even 
in  the  capital  of  the  United  States  —  felt  and  heard. 
And  he  had  not  been  long  in  the  Halls  of  Congress  before 
he  made  a  speech  which  rang  under  the  very  dome  of  the 
Capitol.  So  said  the  Brampton  and  Harwich  papers,  at 
least,  though  rivals  and  detractors  of  Mr.  Sutton  declared 
that  they  could  find  no  matter  in  it  which  related  to  the 
subject  of  a  bill,  but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  The 

229 


230  CONISTON 

oration  began  with  a  lengthy  tribute  to  the  resources  and 
history  of  his  state,  and  ended  by  a  declaration  that  the 
speaker  was  in  Congress  at  no  man's  bidding,  but  as  the 
servant  of  the  common  people  of  his  district. 

Under  the  lamp  of  the  little  parlor  in  the  tannery 
house,  Cynthia  (who  has  now  arrived  at  the  very  serious 
age  of  nineteen)  was  reading  the  papers  to  Jethro  and 
came  upon  Mr.  Sutton's  speech.  There  were  four  columns 
of  it,  but  Jethro  seemed  to  take  delight  in  every  word; 
and  portions  of  the  noblest  parts  of  it,  indeed,  he  had  Cyn 
thia  read  over  again.  Sometimes,  in  the  privacy  of  his 
home,  Jethro  was  known  to  chuckle,  and  to  Cynthia's 
surprise  he  chuckled  more  than  usual  that  evening. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said  at  length,  when  she  had  laid 
the  paper  down,  "  I  thought  that  you  sent  Mr.  Sutton  to 
Congress." 

Jethro  leaned  forward. 

"  What  put  that  into  your  head,  Cynthy  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,"  answered  the  girl,  "  everybody  says  so,  —  Moses 
Hatch,  Rias,  and  Cousin  Eph.  Didn't  you  ?  " 

Jethro  looked  at  her,  as  she  thought,  strangely. 

"  You're  too  young  to  know  anything  about  such 
things,  Cynthy,"  he  said,  "too  young." 

"But  you  make  all  the  judges  and  senators  and  con 
gressmen  in  the  state,  I  know  you  do.  Why,"  exclaimed 
Cynthia,  indignantly,  "  why  does  Mr.  Sutton  say  the 
people  elected  him  when  he  owes  everything  to  you?  " 

Jethro  arose  abruptly  and  flung  a  piece  of  wood  into  the 
stove,  and  then  he  stood  with  his  back  to  her.  Her  in 
stinct  told  her  that  he  was  suffering,  though  she  could  not 
fathom  the  cause,  and  she  rose  swiftly  and  drew  him 
down  into  the  chair  beside  her. 

"What  is  it?"  she  said  anxiously.  "Have  you  got 
rheumatism,  too,  like  Cousin  Eph?  All  old  men  seem  to 
have  rheumatism." 

"  No,  Cynthy,  it  hain't  rheumatism,"  he  managed  to  an 
swer;  "  wimmen  folks  hadn't  ought  to  mix  up  in  politics. 
They — they  don't  understand  'em,  Cynthy." 

"  But  I  shall  understand  them  some  day,  because  I  am 


CHIEFLY  CONCERNING  THE  NATIONAL  GAME    231 

your  daughter  —  now  that  —  now  that  I  have  only  you,  I 
am  your  daughter,  am  I  not?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  answered  huskily,  with  his  hand  on  her 
hair. 

"  And  I  know  more  than  most  women  now,"  continued 
Cynthia,  triumphantly.  "  I'm  going  to  be  such  a  help  to 
you  soon  —  very  soon.  I've  read  a  lot  of  history,  and  I 
know  some  of  the  Constitution  by  heart.  I  know  why 
old  Timothy  Prescott  fought  in  the  Revolution  —  it  was 
to  get  rid  of  kings,  wasn't  it,  and  to  let  the  people  have  a 
chance  ?  The  people  can  always  be  trusted  to  do  what  is 
right,  can't  they,  Uncle  Jethro  ?  " 

Jethro  was  silent,  but  Cynthia  did  not  seem  to  notice 
that.  After  a  space  she  spoke  again :  — 

"  I've  been  thinking  it  all  out  about  you,  Uncle  Jethro." 

"  A-about  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  why  you  are  able  to  send  men  to  Congress 
and  make  judges  of  them.  It's  because  the  people  have 
chosen  you  to  do  all  that  for  them  —  you  are  so  great  and 
good." 

Jethro  did  not  answer. 

Although  the  month  was  March,  it  was  one  of  those 
wonderful  still  nights  that  sometimes  come  in  the  moun 
tain-country  when  the  wind  is  silent  in  the  notches  and 
the  stars  seem  to  burn  nearer  to  the  earth.  Cynthia 
awoke  and  lay  staring  for  an  instant  at  the  red  planet 
which  hung  over  the  black  and  ragged  ridge,  and  then  she 
arose  quickly  and  knocked  at  the  door  across  the  passage. 

"Are  you  ill,  Uncle  Jethro?" 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  no,  Cynthy.  Go  to  bed.  Er  — 
I  was  just  thinkin' — thinkin',  that's  all,  Cynthy." 

Though  all  his  life  he  had  eaten  sparingly,  Cynthia 
noticed  that  he  scarcely  touched  his  breakfast  the  next 
morning,  and  two  hours  later  he  went  unexpectedly  to  the 
state  capital.  That  day,  too,  Coniston  was  clothed  in 
clouds,  and  by  afternoon  a  wild  March  snowstorm  was 
sweeping  down  the  face  of  the  mountain,  piling  against 
doorways  and  blocking  the  roads.  Through  the  storm 
Cynthia  fought  her  way  to  the  harness  shop,  for  Ephraim 


232  CONISTON 

Prescott  had  taken  to  his  bed,  bound  hand  and  foot  by 
rheumatism. 

Much  of  that  spring  Ephraim  was  all  but  helpless,  and 
Cynthia  spent  many  days  nursing  him  and  reading  to  him. 
Meanwhile  the  harness  industry  languished.  Cynthia  and 
Ephraim  knew,  and  Coniston  guessed,  that  Jethro  was  tak 
ing  care  of  Ephraim,  and  strong  as  was  his  affection  for 
Jethro  the  old  soldier  found  dependence  hard  to  bear.  He 
never  spoke  of  it  to  Cynthia,  but  he  used  to  lie  and  dream 
through  the  spring  days  of  what  he  might  have  done  if  the 
war  had  not  crippled  him.  For  Ephraim  Prescott,  like  his 
grandfather,  was  a  man  of  action  —  a  keen,  intelligent 
American  whose  energy,  under  other  circumstances,  might 
have  gone  toward  the  making  of  the  West.  Ephraim, 
furthermore,  had  certain  principles  which  some  in  Conis 
ton  called  cranks  ;  for  instance,  he  would  never  apply  for 
a  pension,  though  he  could  easily  have  obtained  one. 
Through  all  his  troubles,  he  held  grimly  to  the  ideal  which 
meant  more  to  him  than  ease  and  comfort,  —  that  he  had 
served  his  country  for  the  love  of  it. 

With  the  warm  weather  he  was  able  to  be  about  again, 
and  occasionally  to  mend  a  harness,  but  Doctor  Rowell 
shook  his  head  when  Jethro  stopped  his  buggy  in  the  road 
one  day  to  inquire  about  Ephraim.  Whereupon  Jethro 
went  on  to  the  harness  shop.  The  inspiration,  by  the  way, 
had  come  from  Cynthia. 

"  Er  —  Ephraim,  how'd  you  like  to  be  postmaster  ? 
H-haven't  any  objections  to  that  kind  of  a  job,  hev 
you  ?  " 

"  Why  no,"  said  Ephraim.  "  We  hain't  agoin'  to  hev  a 
post-office  at  Coniston  —  air  we  ?  " 

"  H-how'd  you  like  to  be  postmaster  at  Brampton  ?  " 
demanded  Jethro,  abruptly. 

Ephraim  dropped  the  trace  he  was  shaving. 

"  Postmaster  at  Brampton!  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  H-how'd  you  like  it?  "  said  Jethro  again. 

"  Well,"  said  Ephraim,  "  /hain't  got  any  objections." 

Jethro  started  out  of  the  shop,  but  paused  again  at  the 
door. 


CHIEFLY  CONCERNING  THE  NATIONAL  GAME    233 

"  W-won't  say  nothin'  about  it,  will  you,  Eph  ? "  he 
inquired. 

"Not  till  I  git  it,"  answered  Ephraim.  The  sorrows  of 
three  years  were  suddenly  lifted  from  his  shoulders,  and 
for  an  instant  Ephraim  wanted  to  dance  until  he  remem 
bered  the  rheumatism  and  the  Wilderness  leg.  Suddenly 
a  thought  struck  him,  and  he  hobbled  to  the  door  and  called 
out  after  Jethro's  retreating  figure.  Jethro  returned. 

"Well?"  he  said,  "well?" 

"  What's  the  pay  ?  "  said  Ephraim,  in  a  whisper. 

Jethro  named  the  sum  instantly,  also  in  a  whisper. 

"  You  don't  tell  me  !  "  said  Ephraim,  and  sank  stupefied 
into  the  chair  in  front  of  the  shop,  where  lately  he  had 
spent  so  much  of  his  time. 

Jethro  chuckled  twice  on  his  way  home  :  he  chuckled 
twice  again  to  Cynthia's  delight  at  supper,  and  after  sup 
per  he  sent  Millicent  Skinner  to  find  Jake  Wheeler.  Jake, 
as  usual,  was  kicking  his  heels  in  front  of  the  store,  talk 
ing  to  Rias  and  others  about  the  coming  Fourth  of  July 
celebration  at  Brampton.  Brampton,  as  we  know,  was 
famous  for  its  Fourth  of  July  celebrations.  Not  neglecting 
to  let  it  be  known  that  Jethro  had  sent  for  him,  Jake  hurried 
off  through  the  summer  twilight  to  the  tannery  house, 
bowed  ceremoniously  to  Cynthia  under  the  butternut  tree, 
and  discovered  Jethro  behind  the  shed.  It  was  usually 
Jethro's  custom  to  allow  the  other  man  to  begin  the  con 
versation,  no  matter  how  trivial  the  subject  —  a  method 
which  had  commended  itself  to  Mr.  Bixby  and  other 
minor  politicians  who  copied  him.  And  usually  the  other 
man  played  directly  into  Jethro's  hands.  Jake  Wheeler 
always  did,  and  now,  to  cover  the  awkwardness  of  the 
silence,  he  began  on  the  Brampton  celebration. 

"  They  tell  me  Heth  Sutton's  a-goin'  to  make  the  ad 
dress —  seems  prouder  than  ever  sence  he  went  to  Con 
gress.  I  guess  you'll  tell  him  what  to  say  when  the  time 
comes,  Jethro." 

"  Er  —  goin'  to  Clovelly  after  wool  this  week,  Jake  ?  " 

"  I  kin  go  to-morrow,"  said  Jake,  scenting  an  affair. 

"  Er  —  goin'  to  Clovelly  after  wool  this  week,  Jake  ?  " 


234  CONISTON 

Jake  reflected.  He  saw  it  was  expedient  that  this 
errand  should  not  smell  of  haste. 

"  I  was  goin'  to  see  Cutter  on  Friday,"  he  answered. 

"  Er  —  if  you  should  happen  to  meet  Heth —  " 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Jake. 

"  If  by  chance  you  should  happen  to  meet  Heth,  or  Bije  " 

(Jethro  knew  that  Jake  never  went  to  Clovelly  without  a 

conference  with  one  or  the  other  of  these  personages,  if 

only  to  be  able  to  talk  about  it  afterward  at  the  store), 

'  er  —  what  would  you  say  to  'em  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Jake,  scratching  his  head  for  the  answer, 
"  I'd  tell  him  you  was  at  Coniston. " 

"  Think  we'll  have  rain,  Jake  ? "  inquired  Jethro, 
blandly. 

Jake  wended  his  way  back  to  the  store,  filled  with 
renewed  admiration  for  the  great  man.  Jethro  had  given 
him  no  instructions  whatever,  could  deny  before  a  jury  if 
need  be  that  he  had  sent  him  (Jake)  to  Clovelly  to  tell 
Heth  Sutton  to  come  to  Coniston  for  instructions  on  the 
occasion  of  his  Brampton  speech.  And  Jake  was  filled 
with  a  mysterious  importance  when  he  took  his  seat  once 
more  in  the  conclave. 

Jake  Wheeler,  although  in  many  respects  a  fool,  was 
one  of  the  most  efficient  pack  of  political  hounds  that  the 
state  has  ever  known.  By  six  o'clock  on  Friday  morn 
ing  he  was  descending  a  brook  valley  on  the  Clovelly  side 
of  the  mountain,  and  by  seven  was  driving  between  the 
forest  and  river  meadows  of  the  Rajah's  domain,  and  had 
come  in  sight  of  the  big  white  house  with  its  somewhat 
pretentious  bay-windows  and  Gothic  doorway;  it  might 
be  dubbed  the  palace  of  these  parts.  The  wide  river 
flowed  below  it,  and  the  pastures  so  wondrously  green  in 
the  morning  sun  were  dotted  with  fat  cattle  and  sheep. 
Jake  was  content  to  borrow  a  cut  of  tobacco  from  the 
superintendent  and  wander  aimlessly  around  the  farm 
until  Mr.  Sutton's  family  prayers  and  breakfast  were 
accomplished.  We  shall  not  concern  ourselves  with  the 
message  or  the  somewhat  lengthy  manner  in  which  it 
was  delivered.  Jake  had  merely  dropped  in  by  accident, 


CHIEFLY  CONCERNING  THE  NATIONAL  GAME    235 

but  the  Rajah  listened  coldly  while  he  picked  his  teeth, 
said  he  didn't  know  whether  he  was  going  to  Brampton 
or  not — hadn't  decided;  didn't  know  whether  he  could 
get  to  Coniston  or  not  —  his  affairs  were  multitudinous 
now.  In  short,  he  set  Jake  to  thinking  deeply  as  his  horse 
walked  up  the  western  heights  of  Coniston  on  the  return 
journey.  He  had,  let  it  be  repeated,  a  sure  instinct  once 
his  nose  was  fairly  on  the  scent,  and  he  was  convinced 
that  a  war  of  great  magnitude  was  in  the  air,  and  he, 
Jake  Wheeler,  was  probably  the  first  in  all  the  state  to 
discover  it  !  His  blood  leaped  at  the  thought. 

The  hill-Rajah's  defiance,  boiled  down,  could  only  mean 
one  thing,  —  that  somebody  witli  sufficient  power  and  money 
was  about  to  lock  horns  with  Jethro  Bass.  Not  for  a 
moment  did  Jake  believe  that,  for  all  his  pomp  and  cir 
cumstance,  the  Honorable  Heth  Sutton  was  a  big  enough 
man  to  do  this.  Jake  paid  to  the  Honorable  Heth  all  the 
outward  respect  that  his  high  position  demanded,  but  he 
knew  the  man  through  and  through.  He  thought  of  the 
Honorable  Heth's  reform  speech  in  Congress,  and  laughed 
loudly  in  the  echoing  woods.  No,  Mr.  Sutton  was  not  the 
man  to  lead  a  fight.  But  to  whom  had  he  promised  his 
allegiance  ?  This  question  puzzled  Mr.  Wheeler  all  the 
way  home,  and  may  it  be  said  finally  for  many  days  there 
after.  He  slid  into  Coniston  in  the  dusk,  big  with  im 
pending  events,  which  he  could  not  fathom.  As  to  giving 
Jethro  the  careless  answer  of  the  hill-Rajah,  that  was 
another  matter. 

The  Fourth  of  July  came  at  last,  nor  was  any  contradic 
tion  made  in  the  Brampton  papers  that  the  speech  of  the 
Honorable  Heth  Sutton  had  been  cancelled.  Instead,  ad 
vertisements  appeared  in  the  Brampton  Clarion  announc 
ing  the  fact  in  large  letters.  When  Cynthia  read 
this  advertisement  to  Jethro,  he  chuckled  again.  They 
were  under  the  butternut  tree,  for  the  evenings  were  long 
now. 

"  Will  you  take  me  to  Brampton,  Uncle  Jethro  ?  "  said 
she,  letting  fall  the  paper  on  her  lap. 

"  W-who's  to  get  in  the  hay  ?  "  said  Jethro. 


236  CONISTON 

"  Hay  on  the  Fourth  of  July ! "  exclaimed  Cynthia, 
"  why,  that's  —  sacrilege  !  You'd  much  better  come  and 
hear  Mr.  Button's  speech  —  it  will  do  you  good." 

Cynthia  could  see  that  Jethro  was  intensely  amused, 
for  his  eyes  had  a  way  of  snapping  on  such  occasions  when 
he  was  alone  with  her.  She  was  puzzled  and  slightly 
offended,  because,  to  tell  the  truth,  Jethro  had  spoiled  her. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  she  said,  "  I'll  go  with  the  Painter- 
man." 

Jethro  came  and  stood  over  her,  his  expression  the 
least  bit  wistful. 

"  Er  —  Cynthy,"  he  said  presently,  "  hain't  fond  of  that 
Painter-man,  be  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Cynthia,  "  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  He*s  fond  of  you,"  said  Jethro,  "  sh-shouldn't  be  sur 
prised  if  he  was  in  love  with  you." 

Cynthia  looked  up  at  him,  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
twitching,  and  then  she  laughed.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Satterlee, 
writing  his  Sunday  sermon  in  his  study,  heard  her  and 
laid  down  his  pen  to  listen. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  said  Cynthia,  "  sometimes  I  forget 
that  you're  a  great,  wise  man,  and  I  think  that  you  are  just 
a  silly  old  goose." 

Jethro  wiped  his  face  with  his  blue  cotton  handker 
chief. 

"  Then  you  hain't  a-goin'  to  marry  the  Painter-man  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  marry  anybody,"  cried  Cynthia,  con 
tritely  ;  "  I'm  going  to  live  with  you  and  take  care  of  you 
all  my  life." 

On  the  morning  of  the  Fourth,  Cynthia  drove  to  Bramp- 
ton  with  the  Painter-man,  and  when  he  perceived  that 
she  was  dreaming,  he  ceased  to  worry  her  with  his  talk. 
He  liked  her  dreaming,  and  stole  many  glances  at  her 
face  of  which  she  knew  nothing  at  all.  Through  the  cool 
and  fragrant  woods,  past  the  mill-pond  stained  blue  and 
white  by  the  sky,  and  scented  clover  fields  and  wayside 
flowers  nodding  in  the  morning  air — Cynthia  saw  these 
things  in  the  memory  of  another  journey  to  Brampton. 


CHIEFLY  CONCERNING  THE  NATIONAL  GAME    237 

On  that  Fourth  her  father  had  been  with  her,  and  Jethro 
and  Ephraim  and  Moses  and  Amanda  Hatch  and  the  chil 
dren.  And  how  well  she  recalled,  too,  standing  amidst  the 
curious  crowd  before  the  great  house  which  Mr.  Worth- 
ington  had  just  built. 

There  are  weeks  and  months,  perhaps,  when  we  do  not 
think  of  people,  when  our  lives  are  full  and  vigorous,  and 
then  perchance  a  memory  will  bring  them  vividly  before 
us  —  so  vividly  that  we  yearn  for  them.  There  rose  be 
fore  Cynthia  now  the  vision  of  a  boy  as  he  stood  on  the 
Gothic  porch  of  the  house,  and  how  he  had  come  down 
to  the  wondering  country  people  with  his  smile  and  his 
merry  greeting,  and  how  he  had  cajoled  her  into  lingering 
in  front  of  the  meeting-house.  Had  he  forgotten  her  ? 
With  just  a  suspicion  of  a  twinge,  Cynthia  remembered 
that  Janet  Duncan  she  had  seen  at  the  capital,  whom 
she  had  been  told  was  the  heiress  of  the  state.  When 
he  had  graduated  from  Harvard,  Bob  would,  of  course, 
marry  her.  That  was  in  the  nature  of  things. 

To  some  the  great  event  of  that  day  in  Brampton  was 
to  be  the  speech  of  the  Honorable  Heth  Button  in  the 
meeting-house  at  eleven  ;  others  (and  this  party  was  quite 
as  numerous)  had  looked  forward  to  the  base-ball  game 
between  Brampton  and  Harwich  in  the  afternoon.  The 
painter  would  have  preferred  to  walk  up  meeting-house 
hill  with  Cynthia,  and  from  the  cool  heights  look  down 
upon  the  amphitheatre  in  which  the  town  was  built. 
But  Cynthia  was  interested  in  history,  and  they  went  to 
the  meeting-house  accordingly,  where  she  listened  for  an 
hour  and  a  half  to  the  patriotic  eloquence  of  the  represen 
tative.  The  painter  was  glad  to  see  and  hear  so  great  a 
man  in  the  hour  of  his  glory,  though  so  much  as  a  frag 
ment  of  the  oration  does  not  now  remain  in  his  memory. 
In  size,  in  figure,  in  expression,  in  the  sonorous  tones  of 
his  voice,  Mr.  Sutton  was  everything  that  a  congressman 
should  be.  "  The  people,"  said  Isaac  D.  Worthington 
in  presenting  him,  "  should  indeed  be  proud  of  such  an 
able  and  high-minded  representative."  We  shall  have 
cause  to  recall  that  word  high-minded. 


238  CONISTON 

Many  persons  greeted  Cynthia  outside  the  meeting 
house,  for  the  girl  seemed  genuinely  loved  by  all  who 
knew  her  —  too  much  loved,  her  companion  thought,  by 
certain  spick-and-span  young  men  of  Brampton.  But 
they  ate  the  lunch  Cynthia  had  brought,  far  from  the 
crowd,  under  the  trees  by  Coniston  Water.  It  was  she 
who  proposed  going  to  the  base-ball  game,  and  the  painter 
stifled  a  sigh  and  acquiesced.  Their  way  brought  them 
down  Brampton  Street,  past  a  house  with  great,  iron  dogs 
on  the  lawn,  so  imposing  and  cityfied  that  he  hung  back 
and  asked  who  lived  there. 

"  Mr.  Worthington,"  answered  Cynthia,  making  to  move 
on  impatiently. 

Her  escort  did  not  think  much  of  the  house,  but  it 
interested  him  as  the  type  which  Mr.  Worthington  had 
built.  On  that  same  Gothic  porch,  sublimely  unconscious 
of  the  covert  stares  and  subdued  comments  of  the  pas 
sers-by,  the  first  citizen  himself  and  the  Honorable 
Heth  Sutton  might  be  seen.  Mr.  Worthington,  whose 
hawklike  look  had  become  more  pronounced,  sat  upright, 
while  the  Honorable  Heth,  his  legs  crossed,  filled  every 
nook  and  cranny  of  an  arm-chair,  and  an  occasional  fra 
grant  whiff  from  his  cigar  floated  out  to  those  on  the  tar 
sidewalk.  Although  the  pedestrians  were  but  twenty 
feet  away,  what  Mr.  Worthington  said  never  reached 
them  ;  but  the  Honorable  Heth  on  public  days  carried  his 
voice  of  the  Forum  around  with  him. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Cynthia,  in  one  of  those  startling  little 
tempers  she  was  subject  to ;  "  don't  stand  there  like  an 
idiot." 

Then  the  voice  of  Mr.  Sutton  boomed  toward  them. 

"  As  I  understand,  Worthington,"  they  heard  him  say, 
"you  want  me  to  appoint  young  Wheelock  for  the  Bramp 
ton  post-office."  He  stuck  his  thumb  into  his  vest  pocket 
and  recrossed  his  legs.  "  I  guess  it  can  be  arranged." 

When  the  painter  at  last  overtook  Cynthia  the  jewel 
points  he  had  so  often  longed  to  catch  upon  a  canvas  were 
in  her  eyes.  He  fell  back,  wondering  how  he  could  so 
greatly  have  offended,  when  she  put  her  hand  on  his  sleeve. 


CHIEFLY  CONCERNING  THE  NATIONAL  GAME    239 

"  Did  you  hear  what  he  said  about  the  Brampton  post- 
office  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  The  Brampton  post-office  ?  "  he  repeated,  dazed. 

"  Yes,"  said  Cynthia ;  "  Uncle  Jethro  has  promised  it 
to  Cousin  Ephraim,  who  will  starve  without  it.  Did 
you  hear  this  man  say  he  would  give  it  to  Mr.  Wheel- 
ock  ?  " 

Here  was  a  new  Cynthia,  aflame  with  emotions  on  a 
question  of  politics  of  which  he  knew  nothing.  He  did 
understand,  however,  her  concern  for  Ephraim  Prescott, 
for  he  knew  that  she  loved  the  soldier.  She  turned  from 
the  painter  now  with  a  gesture  which  he  took  to  mean 
that  his  profession  debarred  him  from  such  vital  subjects, 
and  she  led  the  way  to  the  fair-grounds.  There  he 
meekly  bought  tickets,  and  they  found  themselves  hurried 
along  in  the  eager  crowd  toward  the  stand. 

The  girl  was  still  unaccountably  angry  over  that  mys 
terious  affair  of  the  post-office,  and  sat  with  flushed  cheeks 
staring  out  on  the  green  field,  past  the  line  of  buggies  and 
carryalls  on  the  farther  side  to  the  southern  shoulder  of 
Coniston  towering  above  them  all.  The  painter,  already 
beginning  to  love  his  New  England  folk,  listened  to  the 
homely  chatter  about  him,  until  suddenly  a  cheer  starting 
in  one  corner  ran  like  a  flash  of  gunpowder  around  the 
field,  and  eighteen  young  men  trotted  across  the  turf. 
Although  he  was  not  a  devotee  of  sport,  he  noticed  that 
nine  of  these,  as  they  took  their  places  on  the  bench,  wore 
blue,  —  the  Harwich  Champions.  Seven  only  of  those 
scattering  over  the  field  wore  white  ;  two  young  gentle 
men,  one  at  second  base  and  the  other  behind  the  batter, 
wore  gray  uniforms  with  crimson  stockings,  and  crimson 
piping  on  the  caps,  and  a  crimson  H  embroidered  on  the 
breast  —  a  sight  that  made  the  painter's  heart  beat  a  little 
faster,  the  honored  livery  of  his  own  college. 

"  What  are  those  two  Harvard  men  doing  here  ?  "  he 
asked. 

Cynthia,  who  was  leaning  forward,  started,  and  turned 
to  him  a  face  which  showed  him  that  his  question  had 
been  meaningless.  He  repeated  it. 


240  CONISTON 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  "  the  tall  one,  burned  brick-red  like 
an  Indian,  is  Bob  Worthington." 

"  He's  a  good  type,"  the  artist  remarked. 

"  You're  right,  Mister,  there  hain't  a  finer  young  feller 
anywhere,"  chimed  in  Mr.  Dodd,  a  portly  person  with  a 
tuft  of  yellow  beard  on  his  chin.  Mr.  Dodd  kept  the  hard 
ware  store  in  Brampton. 

"  And  who,"  asked  the  painter,  "  is  the  bullet-headed 
little  fellow,  with  freckles  and  short  red  hair,  behind  the 
bat?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Cynthia,  indifferently. 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dodd,  with  just  a  trace  of  awe 
in  his  voice,  "  that's  Somers  Duncan,  son  of  Millionnaire 
Duncan  down  to  the  capital.  I  guess,"  he  added,  "  I  guess 
them  two  will  be  the  richest  men  in  the  state  some  day. 
Duncan  come  up  from  Harvard  with  Bob." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  game  was  in  full  swing,  Brampton 
against  Harwich,  the  old  rivalry  in  another  form.  Every 
advantage  on  either  side  awoke  thundering  cheers  from  the 
partisans;  beribboned  young  women  sprang  to  their  feet 
and  waved  the  Harwich  blue  at  a  home  run,  arid  were  on 
the  verge  of  tears  when  the  Brampton  pitcher  struck  out 
their  best  batsman.  But  beyond  the  facts  that  the  tide 
was  turning  in  Brampton's  favor;  that  young  Mr.  Worth 
ington  stopped  a  ball  flying  at  a  phenomenal  speed  and 
batted  another  at  a  still  more  phenomenal  speed  which 
was  not  stopped;  that  his  name  and  Duncan's  were  mingled 
generously  in  the  cheering,  the  painter  remembered  little  of 
the  game.  The  exhibition  of  human  passions  which  the 
sight  of  it  drew  from  an  undemonstrative  race  :  the  shout 
ing,  the  comments  wrung  from  hardy  spirits  off  their  guard, 
the  joy  and  the  sorrow,  —  such  things  interested  him  more. 
High  above  the  turmoil  Coniston,  as  through  the  ages, 
looked  down  upon  the  scene  impassive. 

He  was  aroused  from  these  reflections  by  an  inci 
dent.  Some  one  had  leaped  over  the  railing  which  sepa 
rated  the  stand  from  the  field  and  stood  before  Cynthia, 
—  a  tanned  and  smiling  young  man  in  gray  and  crimson. 
His  honest  eyes  were  alight  with  an  admiration  that  was 


CHIEFLY  CONCERNING  THE  NATIONAL  GAME    241 

unmistakable  to  the  painter  —  perhaps  to  Cynthia  also, 
for  a  glow  that  might  have  been  of  annoyance  or  anger, 
and  yet  was  like  the  color  of  the  mountain  sunrise,  an 
swered  in  her  cheek.  Mr.  Worthington  reached  out  a 
large  brown  hand  and  seized  the  girl's  as  it  lay  on  her  lap. 

"  Hello,  Cynthia,"  he  cried,  "  I've  been  looking  for  you 
all  day.  I  thought  you  might  be  here.  Where  were  you?  " 

"  Where  did  you  look  ?  "  answered  Cynthia,  composedly, 
withdrawing  her  hand. 

"  Everywhere,"  said  Bob,  "  up  and  down  the  street,  all 
through  the  hotel.  I  asked  Lem  Hallowell,  and  he  didn't 
know  where  you  were.  I  only  got  here  last  night  my 
self." 

"  I  was  in  the  meeting-house,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  The  meeting-house  !  "  he  echoed.  "  You  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  that  you  listened  to  that  silly  speech  of  Button's  ?  " 

This  remark,  delivered  in  all  earnestness,  was  the  signal 
for  uproarious  laughter  from  Mr.  Dodd  and  others  sitting 
near  by,  attending  earnestly  to  the  conversation. 

Cynthia  bit  her  lip. 

"Yes,  I  did,"  she  said;  "but  I'm  sorry  now." 

"I  should  think  you  would  be,"  said  Bob;  "  Sutton's 
a  silly,  pompous  old  fool.  I  had  to  sit  through  dinner 
with  him.  I  believe  I  could  represent  the  district  better 
myself." 

"  By  gosh ! "  exploded  Mr.  Dodd,  "  I  believe  you 
could!  " 

But  Bob  paid  no  attention  to  him.  He  was  looking  at 
Cynthia. 

"  Cynthia,  you've  grown  up  since  I  saw  you,"  he  said. 
"  How's  Uncle  Jethro  ?  " 

"  He's  well  —  thanks,"  said  Cynthia,  and  now  she  was 
striving  to  put  down  a  smile. 

"  Still  running  the  state  ?  "  said  Bob.  "  You  tell  him 
I  think  he  ought  to  muzzle  Sutton.  What  did  he  send 
him  down  to  Washington  for  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  after  the  game  ?  "  Bob  de 
manded. 


242         ,  CONISTON 

"  I'm  going  home,  of  course,"  said  Cynthia. 

His  face  fell. 

"  Can't  you  come  to  the  house  for  supper  and  stay  for 
the  fireworks  ?  "  he  begged  pleadingly.  "  We'd  be  mighty 
glad  to  have  your  friend,  too." 

Cynthia  introduced  her  escort. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,  Bob,"  she  said,  with  that  New 
England  demureness  which  at  times  became  her  so  well, 
"  but  we  couldn't  possibly  do  it.  And  then  I  don't  like 
Mr.  Sutton." 

"Oh,  hang  him!"  exclaimed  Bob.  He  took  a  step 
nearer  to  her.  "  Won't  you  stay  this  once  ?  I  have  to 
go  West  in  the  morning." 

"  I  think  you  are  very  lucky,"  said  Cynthia. 

Bob  scanned  her  face  searchingly,  and  his  own  fell. 

"  Lucky  !  "  he  cried,  "  I  think  it's  the  worst  thing  that 
ever  happened  to  me.  My  father's  so  hard-headed  when 
he  gets  his  mind  set  —  he's  making  me  do  it.  He  wants 
me  to  see  the  railroads  and  the  country,  so  I've  got  to 
go  with  the  Duncans.  I  wanted  to  stay  —  "  He  checked 
himself,  "  I  think  it's  a  blamed  nuisance." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  a  voice  behind  him. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Mr.  Somers  Duncan  had 
spoken,  but  Bob  either  had  not  heard  him  or  pretended  not 
to.  Mr.  Duncan's  freckled  face  smiled  at  them  from  the 
top  of  the  railing,  his  eyes  were  on  Cynthia's  face,  and  he 
had  been  listening  eagerly.  Mr.  Duncan's  chief  charac 
teristic,  beyond  his  freckles,  was  his  eagerness  —  a  quality 
probably  amounting  to  keenness. 

"  Hello,"  said  Bob,  turning  impatiently,  "  I  might  have 
known  you  couldn't  keep  away.  You're  the  cause  of  all 
my  troubles  —  you  and  your  father's  private  car." 

Somers  became  apologetic. 

"  It  isn't  my  fault,"  he  said  ;  "  I'm  sure  I  hate  going 
as  much  as  you  do.  It's  spoiled  my  summer,  too." 

Then  he  coughed  and  looked  at  Cynthia. 

"  Well,"  said  Bob,  "  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  introduce 
you.  This,"  he  added,  dragging  his  friend  over  the  rail 
ing,  "is  Mr.  Somers  Duncan." 


CHIEFLY  CONCERNING  THE  NATIONAL  GAME    243 

"  I'm  awfully  glad  to  meet  you,  Miss  Wetherell,"  said 
Somers,  fervently  ;  "  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  thought  he 
was  just  making  up  yarns." 

"  Yarns  ?  "  repeated  Cynthia,  with  a  look  that  set  Mr. 
Duncan  floundering. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  stammered.  "Worthy  said  that  you 
were  up  here,  but  I  thought  he  was  crazy  the  way  he 
talked  —  I  didn't  think  —  " 

"  Think  what?  "  inquired  Cynthia,  but  she  flushed  a  little. 

"  Oh,  rot,  Somers  !  "  said  Bob,  blushing  furiously  under 
his  tan  ;  "you  ought  never  to  go  near  a  woman  —  you're 
the  darndest  fool  with  'em  I  ever  saw." 

This  time  even  the  painter  laughed  outright,  and  yet 
he  was  a  little  sorrowful,  too,  because  he  could  not  be 
even  as  these  youths.  But  Cynthia  sat  serene,  the  eter 
nal  feminine  of  all  the  ages,  and  it  is  no  wonder  that  Bob 
Worthington  was  baffled  as  he  looked  at  her.  He  lapsed 
into  an  awkwardness  quite  as  bad  as  that  of  his  friend. 

"  I  hope  you  enjoyed  the  game,"  he  said  at  last,  with  a 
formality  that  was  not  at  all  characteristic. 

Cynthia  did  not  seem  to  think  it  worth  while  to  answer 
this,  so  the  painter  tried  to  help  him  out. 

"  That  was  a  fine  stop  you  made,  Mr.  Worthington,"  he 
said  ;  "  wasn't  it,  Cynthia  ?  " 

"  Everybody  seemed  to  think  so,"  answered  Cynthia, 
cruelly;  "but  if  I  were  a  man  and  had  hands  like  that" 
(Bob  thrust  them  in  his  pockets),  "  I  believe  I  could  stop  a 
ball,  too." 

Somers  laughed  uproariously. 

"Good-by,"  said  Bob,  with  uneasy  abruptness,  "I've 
got  to  go  into  the  field  now.  When  can  I  see  you  ?  " 

"  When  you  get  back  from  the  West  —  perhaps,"  said 
Cynthia. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Bob  (they  were  calling  him),  "  I  must  see 
you  to-night !  "  He  vaulted  over  the  railing  and  turned. 
"I'll  come  back  here  right  after  the  game,"  he  said; 
"there's  only  one  more  inning." 

"  We'll  come  back  right  after  the  game,"  repeated  Mr. 
Duncan. 


244  CONISTON 

Bob  shot  one  look  at  him,  —  of  which  Mr.  Duncan 
seemed  blissfully  unconscious,  —  and  stalked  off  abruptly 
to  second  base. 

The  artist  sat  pensive  for  a  few  moments,  wondering 
at  the  ways  of  women,  his  sympathies  unaccountably  en 
listed  in  behalf  of  Mr.  Worthington. 

"  Weren't  you  a  little  hard  on  him  ?  "  he  said. 

For  answer  Cynthia  got  to  her  feet. 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  be  going  home,"  she  said. 

"  Going  home  !  "   he  ejaculated  in  amazement. 

"  I  promised  Uncle  Jethro  I'd  be  there  for  supper,"  and 
she  led  the  way  out  of  the  grand  stand. 

So  they  drove  back  to  Coniston  through  the  level  even 
ing  light,  and  when  they  came  to  Ephraim  Prescott's  har 
ness  shop  the  old  soldier  waved  at  them  cheerily  from 
under  the  big  flag  which  he  had  hung  out  in  honor  of 
the  day.  The  flag  was  silk,  and  incidentally  Ephraim's 
most  valued  possession.  Then  they  drew  up  before  the 
tannery  house,  and  Cynthia  leaped  out  of  the  buggy  and 
held  out  her  hand  to  the  painter  with  a  smile. 

"It  was  very  good  of  you  to  take  me,"  she  said. 

Jethro  Bass,  rugged,  uncouth,  in  rawhide  boots  and 
swallowtail  and  coonskin  cap,  came  down  from  the  porch 
to  welcome  her,  and  she  ran  toward  him  with  an  eagerness 
that  started  the  painter  to  wondering  afresh  over  the  con 
trasts  of  life.  What,  he  asked  himself,  had  Fate  in  store 
for  Cynthia  Wetherell  ? 


CHAPTER   III 

JOURNEYS   TO   GO 

"  H-HAVE  a  good  time,  Cynthy  ?  "  said  Jethro,  look 
ing  down  into  her  face.  Love  had  wrought  changes  in 
Jethro,  mightier  changes  than  he  suspected,  and  the  girl 
did  not  know  how  zealous  were  the  sentries  of  that  love, 
how  watchful  they  were,  and  how  they  told  him  often  and 
again  whether  her  heart,  too,  was  smiling. 

"  It  was  very  gay,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  P-painter-man  gay  ?  "  inquired  Jethro. 

Cynthia's  eyes  were  on  the  orange  line  of  the  sunset  over 
Coniston,  but  she  laughed  a  little,  indulgently. 

"Cynthy?" 

"  Yes."  ' 

"  Er — that  Painter-man  hain't  such  a  bad  fellow — 
w-why  didn't  you  ask  him  in  to  supper  ?  " 

"  I'll  give  you  three  guesses,"  said  Cynthia,  but  she  did 
not  wait  for  them.  "  It  was  because  I  wanted  to  be  alone 
with  you.  Milly's  gone  out,  hasn't  she  ?  " 

"  G-gone  a-courtin',"  said  Jethro. 

She  smiled,  and  went  into  the  house  to  see  whether 
Milly  had  done  her  duty  before  she  left.  It  was  character 
istic  of  Cynthia  not  to  have  mentioned  the  subject  which 
was  agitating  her  mind  until  they  were  seated  on  opposite 
sides  of  the  basswood  table. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said,  "  I  thought  you  told  Mr. 
Sutton  to  give  Cousin  Eph  the  Brampton  post-office  ? 
Do  you  trust  Mr.  Sutton  ?  "  she  demanded  abruptly. 

"  Er  —  why  ?  "  said  Jethro.     "  Why  ?  " 

"Because  I  don't,"  she  answered  with  conviction;  "I 
think  he's  a  big  fraud.  He  must  have  deceived  you, 

245 


246  CONISTON 

Uncle  Jethro.  I  can't  see  why  you  ever  sent  him  to  Con 
gress." 

Although  Jethro  was  in  no  mood  for  mirth,  he  laughed 
in  spite  of  himself,  for  he  was  an  American.  His  life 
long  habit  would  have  made  him  defend  Heth  to  any  one 
but  Cynthia. 

"  'D  you  see  Heth,  Cynthy  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  girl,  disgustedly,  "  I  should  say  I  did, 
but  not  to  speak  to  him.  He  was  sitting  on  Mr.  Worth- 
ington's  porch,  and  I  heard  him  tell  Mr.  Worthington  he 
would  give  the  Brampton  post-office  to  Dave  Wheelock. 
I  don't  want  you  to  think  that  I  was  eavesdropping,"  she 
added  quickly;  "I  couldn't  help  hearing  it." 

Jethro  did  not  answer. 

"  You'll  make  him  give  the  post-office  to  Cousin  Eph, 
won't  you,  Uncle  Jethro  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Jethro,  very  simply,  "I  will."  He  medi 
tated  awhile,  and  then  said  suddenly,  "  W-won't  speak 
about  it  —  will  you,  Cynthy  ?  " 

"  You  know  I  won't,"  she  answered. 

Let  it  not  be  thought  by  any  chance  that  Coniston  was 
given  over  to  revelry  and  late  hours,  even  on  the  Fourth 
of  July.  By  ten  o'clock  the  lights  were  out  in  the  tan 
nery  house,  but  Cynthia  was  not  asleep.  She  sat  at  her 
window  watching  the  shy  moon  peeping  over  Coniston 
ridge,  and  she  was  thinking,  to  be  exact,  of  how  much 
could  happen  in  one  short  day  and  how  little  in  a  long 
month.  She  was  aroused  by  the  sound  of  wheels  and  the 
soft  beat  of  a  horse's  hoofs  on  the  dirt  road :  then  came 
stifled  laughter,  and  suddenly  she  sprang  up  alert  and  tin 
gling.  Her  own  name  came  floating  to  her  through  the 
darkness. 

The  next  thing  that  happened  will  be  long  remembered 
in  Coniston.  A  tentative  chord  or  two  from  a  guitar,  and 
then  the  startled  village  was  listening  with  all  its  might 
to  the  voices  of  two  young  men  singing  "  When  I  first 
went  up  to  Harvard  "  —  probably  meant  to  disclose  the 
identity  of  the  serenaders,  as  if  that  were  necessary  !  Con 
iston,  never  having  listened  to  grand  opera,  was  entertained 


JOURNEYS  TO  GO  247 

and  thrilled,  and  thought  the  rendering  of  the  song  better 
on  the  whole  than  the  church  choir  could  have  done  it,  or 
even  the  quartette  that  sung  at  the  Brampton  celebrations 
behind  the  flowers.  Cynthia  had  her  own  views  on  the 
subject. 

There  were  five  other  songs  —  Cynthia  remembers  all 
of  them,  although  she  would  not  confess  such  a  thing. 
"  Naughty,  naughty  Clara,"  was  another  one;  the  other  three 
were  almost  wholly  about  love,  some  treating  it  flippantly, 
others  seriously  —  this  applied  to  the  last  one,  which  had 
many  farewells  in  it.  Then  they  went  away,  and  the 
crickets  and  frogs  on  Coniston  Water  took  up  the  refrain. 

Although  the  occurrence  was  unusual,  —  it  might  almost 
be  said  epoch-making,  —  Jethro  did  not  speak  of  it  until 
they  had  reached  the  sparkling  heights  of  Thousand  Acre 
Hill  the  next  morning.  Even  then  he  did  not  look  at 
Cynthia. 

"  Know  who  that  was  last  night,  Cynthy  ?  "  he  inquired, 
as  though  the  matter  were  a  casual  one. 

"  I  believe,"  said  Cynthia,  heroically,  "  I  believe  it  was 
a  boy  named  Somers  Duncan  —  and  Bob  Worthington." 

"  Er —  Bob  Worthington,"  repeated  Jethro,  but  said 
nothing  more. 

Of  course  Coniston,  and  presently  Brampton,  knew  that 
Bob  Worthington  had  serenaded  Cynthia — and  Coniston 
and  Brampton  talked.  It  is  noteworthy  that  (with  the 
jocular  exceptions  of  Ephraim  and  Lem  Hallowell)  they 
did  not  talk  to  the  girl  herself.  The  painter  had  long 
ago  discovered  that  Cynthia  was  an  individual.  She 
had  good  blood  in  her  :  as  a  mere  child  she  had 
shouldered  the  responsibility  of  her  father;  she  had  a 
natural  aptitude  for  books  —  a  quality  reverenced  in  the 
community ;  she  visited,  as  a  matter  of  habit,  the  sick  and 
the  unfortunate;  and  lastly  (perhaps  the  crowning  achieve 
ment)  she  had  bo  and  Jethro  Bass,  of  all  men,  with  the 
fetters  of  love.  Of  course  I  have  ended  up  by  making  her 
a  paragon,  although  I  am  merely  stating  what  people 
thought  of  her.  Coniston  decided  at  once  that  she  was  to 
marry  the  heir  to  the  Brampton  Mills. 


248  CONISTON 

But  the  heir  had  gone  West,  and  as  the  summer  wore 
on,  the  gossip  died  down.  Other  and  more  absorbing 
gossip  took  its  place  :  never  distinctly  fornmlated,  but 
whispered  ;  always  wishing  for  more  definite  news  that 
never  came.  The  statesmen  drove  out  from  Brampton  to 
the  door  of  the  tannery  house,  as  usual,  only  it  was  re 
marked  by  astute  observers  and  Jake  Wheeler  that  cer 
tain  statesmen  did  not  come  who  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  coming  formerly.  In  short,  those  who  made  it  a  custom 
to  observe  such  matters  felt  vaguely  a  disturbance  of  some 
kind.  The  organs  of  the  people  felt  it,  and  became  more 
guarded  in  their  statements.  What  no  one  knew,  except 
Jake  and  a  few  in  high  places,  was  that  a  war  of  no  mean 
magnitude  was  impending. 

There  were  three  men  in  the  State  —  and  perhaps  only 
three  —  who  realized  from  the  first  that  all  former  politi 
cal  combats  would  pale  in  comparison  to  this  one  to  come. 
Similar  wars  had  already  started  in  other  states,  and 
when  at  length  they  were  fought  out  another  twist  had 
been  given  to  the  tail  ot  a  long-suffering  Constitution ; 
political  history  in  the  United  States  had  to  be  written 
from  an  entirely  new  and  unforeseen  standpoint,  and  the 
unsuspecting  people  had  changed  masters. 

This  was  to  be  a  war  of  extermination  of  one  side  or 
the  other.  No  quarter  would  be  given  or  asked,  and 
every  weapon  hitherto  known  to  politics  would  be  used. 
Of  the  three  men  who  realized  this,  and  all  that  would 
happen  if  one  side  or  the  other  were  victorious,  one  was 
Alexander  Duncan,  another  Isaac  D.  Worthington,  and 
the  third  was  Jethro  Bass. 

Jethro  would  never  have  been  capable  of  being  master 
of  the  state  had  he  not  foreseen  the  time  when  the  rail 
roads,  tired  of  paying  tribute,  would  turn  and  try  to  exter 
minate  the  boss.  The  really  astonishing  thing  about 
Jethro's  foresight  (known  to  few  only)  was  that  he  per 
ceived  clearly  that  the  time  would  come  when  the  railroads 
and  other  aggregations  of  capital  would  exterminate  the 
boss,  or  at  least  subserviate  him.  This  alone,  the  writer 
thinks,  gives  him  some  right  to  greatness.  And  Jethro 


JOURNEYS  TO  GO  249 

Bass  made  up  his  mind  that  the  victory  of  the  railroads, 
in  his  state  at  least,  should  not  come  in  his  day.  He 
would  hold  and  keep  what  he  had  fought  all  his  life  to  gain. 

Jethro  knew,  when  Jake  Wheeler  failed  to  bring  him  a 
message  back  from  Clovelly,  that  the  war  had  begun,  and 
that  Isaac  D.  Worthington,  commander  of  the  railroad 
forces  in  the  field,  had  captured  his  pawn,  the  hill-Rajah. 
By  getting  through  to  Harwich,  the  Truro  had  made  a 
sad  muddle  in  railroad  affairs.  It  was  now  a  connecting 
link  ;  and  its  president,  the  first  citizen  of  Brampton,  a 
man  of  no  small  importance  in  the  state.  This  fact  was 
not  lost  upon  Jethro,  who  perceived  clearly  enough  the 
fight  for  consolidation  that  was  coming  in  the  next  Legis 
lature. 

Seated  on  an  old  haystack  on  Thousand  Acre  Hill,  that 
sits  in  turn  on  the  lap  of  Coniston,  Jethro  smiled  as  he 
reflected  that  the  first  trial  of  strength  in  this  mighty 
struggle  was  to  be  over  (what  the  unsuspecting  world 
would  deem  a  trivial  matter)  the  postmastership  of 
Brampton.  And  Worthington's  first  move  in  the  game 
would  be  to  attempt  to  capture  for  his  faction  the  support 
of  the  Administration  itself. 

Jethro  thought  the  view  from  Thousand  Acre  Hill, 
especially  in  September,  to  be  one  of  the  sublimest  efforts 
of  the  Creator.  It  was  September,  first  of  the  purple 
months  in  Coniston,  not  the  red-purple  of  the  Maine 
coast,  but  the  blue-purple  of  the  mountains,  the  color  of 
the  bloom  on  the  Concord  grape.  His  eyes,  sweeping  the 
mountain  from  the  notch  to  the  granite  ramp  of  the 
northern  buttress,  fell  on  the  weather-beaten  little  farm 
house  in  which  he  had  lived  for  many  years,  and  rested 
lovingly  on  the  orchard,  where  the  golden  early  apples 
shone  among  the  leaves.  But  Jethro  was  not  looking  at 
the  apples. 

"  Cynthy,"  he  called  out  abruptly,  "  h-how'd  you  like 
to  go  to  Washington  ?  " 

"  Washington  !  "  exclaimed  Cynthia.     "  When  ?  " 

"N-now  —  to-morrow."  Then  he  added  uneasily, 
"  C-can't  you  get  ready  ?  " 


250  CONISTON 

Cynthia  laughed. 

"  Why,  I'll  go  to-night,  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  answered. 

"  Well,"  he  said  admiringly,  "  you  hain't  one  of  them 
clutterin'  females.  We  can  get  some  finery  for  you  in 
New  York,  Cynthy.  D-don't  want  any  of  them  town 
ladies  to  put  you  to  shame.  Er  —  not  that  they  would," 
he  added  hastily  —  "  not  that  they  would." 

Cynthia  climbed  up  beside  him  on  the  haystack. 
"  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said  solemnly,  "  when  you  make 
a  senator  or  a  judge,  I  don't  interfere,  do  I  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  uneasily,  for  there  were  moments  when 
he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  make  out  her  drift. 

"  N-no,"  he  assented,  "of  course  not,  Cynthy." 

"  Why  is  it  that  I  don't  interfere  ?  " 

"  I  callate,"  answered  Jethro,  still  more  uneasily,  "  I 
callate  it's  because  you're  a  woman." 

"  And  don't  you  think,"  asked  Cynthia,  "  that  a  woman 
ought  to  know  what  becomes  her  best  ?  " 

Jethro  reflected,  and  then  his  glance  fell  on  her  approv 
ingly- 

"  G-guess  you're  right,  Cynthy,"  he  said.  "  I  always 
had  some  success  in  dressin'  up  Listy,  and  that  kind  of 
set  me  up." 

On  such  occasions  he  spoke  of  his  wife  quite  simply. 
He  had  been  genuinely  fond  of  her,  although  she  was  no 
more  than  an  episode  in  his  life.  Cynthia  smiled  to  her 
self  as  they  walked  through  the  orchard  to  the  place  where 
the  horse  was  tied,  but  she  was  a  little  remorseful.  This 
feeling,  on  the  drive  homeward,  was  swept  away  by  sheer 
elation  at  the  prospect  of  the  trip  before  her.  She  had 
often  dreamed  of  the  great  world  beyond  Coniston,  and  no 
one,  not  even  Jethro,  had  guessed  the  longings  to  see  it 
which  had  at  times  beset  her.  Often  she  had  dropped  her 
book  to  summon  up  a  picture  of  what  a  great  city  was 
like,  to  reconstruct  the  Boston  of  her  early  childhood. 
She  remembered  the  Mall,  where  she  used  to  walk  with 
her  father,  and  the  row  of  houses  where  the  rich  dwelt, 
which  had  seemed  like  palaces.  Indeed,  when  she  read  of 
palaces,  these  houses  always  came  to  her  mind.  And  now 


JOURNEYS  TO  GO  251 

she  was  to  behold  a  palace  even  greater  than  these,  —  and 
the  house  where  the  President  himself  dwelt.  But  why 
was  Jethro  going  to  Washington  ? 

As  if  in  answer  to  the  question,  he  drove  directly  to  the 
harness  shop  instead  of  to  the  tannery  house.  Ephraim 
greeted  them  from  within  with  a  cheery  hail,  and  hobbled 
out  and  stood  between  the  wheels  of  the  buggy. 

"  That  bridle  bust  again  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Er — Ephraim,"  said  Jethro,  "  how  long  since  you  b'en 
away  from  Coniston  —  how  long  ?  " 

Ephraim  reflected. 

"  I  went  to  Harwich  with  Moses  before  that  bad  spell  I 
had  in  March,"  he  answered. 

Cynthia  smiled  from  pure  happiness,  for  she  began  ito 
see  the  drift  of  things  now. 

"  H-how  long  since  you've  b'en  in  foreign  parts  ?  "  said 
Jethro. 

"  'Sixty -five,"  answered  Ephraim,  with  astonishing 
promptness. 

"Er  —  like  to  go  to  Washington  with  us  to-morrow  — 
like  to  go  to  Washington  ?  " 

Ephraim  gasped,  even  as  Cynthia  had. 

"  Washin'ton  !  "  he  ejaculated. 

"  Cynthy  and  I  was  thinkin'  of  takin'  a  little  trip,"  said 
Jethro,  almost  apologetically,  "  and  we  kind  of  thought 
we'd  like  to  have  you  with  us.  Didn't  we,  Cynthy  ?  Er — 
•we  might  see  General  Grant,"  he  added  meaningly. 

Ephraim  was  a  New  Englander,  and  not  an  adept  in 
expressing  his  emotions.  Both  Cynthia  and  Jethro  felt 
that  he  would  have  liked  to  have  said  something  appropriate 
if  he  had  known  how.  What  he  actually  said  was  :  — 

"  What  time  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  C-callate  to  take  the  nine  o'clock  from  Brampton," 
said  Jethro. 

"  I'll  report  for  duty  at  seven,"  said  Ephraim,  and  it 
was  then  he  squeezed  the  hand  that  he  found  in  his.  He 
watched  them  calmly  enough  until  they  had  disappeared 
in  the  barn  behind  the  tannery  house,  and  then  his 
thoughts  became  riotous.  Rumors  had  been  rife  that 


252  CONISTOK 

summer,  prophecies  of  changes  to  come,  and  the  resigna 
tion  of  the  old  man  who  had  so  long  been  postmaster  at 
Brampton  was  freely  discussed  —  or  rather  the  matter  of 
his  successor.  As  the  months  passed,  Ephraim  had  heard 
David  Wheelock  mentioned  with  more  and  more  assurance 
for  the  place.  He  had  had  many  nights  when  sleep  failed 
him,  but  it  was  characteristic  of  the  old  soldier  that  he 
had  never  once  broached  the  subject  since  Jethro  had 
spoken  to  him  two  months  before.  Ephraim  had  even 
looked  up  the  law  to  see  if  he  was  eligible,  and  found  that 
he  was,  since  Coniston  had  no  post-office,  and  was  within 
the  limits  of  delivery  of  the  Brampton  office. 

The  next  morning  Coniston  was  treated  to  a  genuine 
surprise.  After  loading  up  at  the  store,  Lem  Hallowell, 
instead  of  heading  for  Brampton,  drove  to  the  tannery 
house,  left  his  horses  standing  as  he  ran  in,  and  presently 
emerged  with  a  little  cowhide  trunk  that  bore  the  letter 
W.  Following  the  trunk  came  a  radiant  Cynthia,  follow 
ing  Cynthia,  Jethro  Bass  in  a  stove-pipe  hat,  with  a  car 
pet-bag,  and  hobbling  after  Jethro,  Ephraim  Prescott, 
with  another  carpet-bag.  It  was  remarked  in  the  buzz  of 
query  that  followed  the  stage's  departure  that  Ephraim 
wore  the  blue  suit  and  the  army  hat  with  a  cord  around  it 
which  he  kept  for  occasions.  Coniston  longed  to  follow 
them,  in  spirit  at  least,  but  even  Milly  Skinner  did  not 
know  their  destination. 

Fortunately  we  can  follow  them.  At  Brampton  station 
they  got  into  the  little  train  that  had  just  come  over  Truro 
Pass,  and  steamed,  with  many  stops,  down  the  valley  of 
Coniston  Water  until  it  stretched  out  into  a  wide  range 
of  shimmering  green  meadows  guarded  by  blue  hills  veiled 
in  the  morning  haze.  Then,  bustling  Harwich,  and  a  wait 
of  half  an  hour  until  the  express  from  the  north  country 
came  thundering  through  the  Gap  ;  then  a  five-hours'  jour 
ney  down  the  broad  river  that  runs  southward  between 
the  hills,  dinner  in  a  huge  station  amidst  a  pleasant  buzz 
of  excitement  and  the  ringing  of  many  bells.  Then  into 
another  train,  through  valleys  and  factory  towns  and  citier 
until  they  came,  at  nightfall,  to  the  metropolis  itself. 


JOURNEYS  TO  GO  253 

Cynthia  will  always  remember  the  awe  with  which  that 
first  view  of  New  York  inspired  her,  and  Ephraim  con 
fessed  that  he,  too,  had  felt  it,  when  he  had  first  seen  the 
myriad  lights  of  the  city  after  the  long,  dusty  ride  from 
the  hills  with  his  regiment.  For  all  the  flags  and  bunting 
it  had  held  in  '61,  Ephraim  thought  that  city  crueller  than 
war  itself.  And  Cynthia  thought  so,  too,  as  she  clung 
to  Jethro's  arm  between  the  carriages  and  the  clanging 
street-cars,  and  looked  upon  the  riches  and  poverty  around 
her.  There  entered  her  soul  that  night  a  sense  of  that 
which  is  the  worst  cruelty  of  all  —  the  cruelty  of  selfish 
ness.  Every  man  going  his  own  pace,  seeking  to  gratify 
his  own  aims  and  desires,  unconscious  and  heedless  of 
the  want  with  which  he  rubs  elbo\vs.  Her  natural  imagi 
nation  enhanced  by  her  life  among  the  hills,  the  girl 
peopled  the  place  in  the  street  lights  with  all  kinds  of 
strange  evil-doers  of  whose  sins  she  knew  nothing, — 
adventurers,  charlatans,  alert  cormorants,  who  preyed 
upon  the  unwary.  She  shrank  closer  to  Ephraim  from 
a  perfumed  lady  who  sat  next  to  her  in  the  car,  and  was 
thankful  when  at  last  they  found  themselves  in  the  corri 
dor  of  the  Astor  House  standing  before  the  desk. 

Hotel  clerks,  especially  city  ones,  are  supernatural  per 
sons.  This  one  knew  Jethro,  greeted  him  deferentially 
as  Judge  Bass,  and  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink  and  handed 
it  to  him  that  he  might  register.  By  half-past  nine 
Cynthia  was  dreaming  of  Lem  Hallo  well  and  Coniston, 
and  Lem  was  driving  a  yellow  street-car  full  of  queer 
people  down  the  road  to  Brampton. 

There  were  few  guests  in  the  great  dining  room  when 
they  breakfasted  at  seven  the  next  morning.  New  York, 
in  the  sunlight,  had  taken  on  a  more  kindly  expression, 
and  those  who  were  near  by  smiled  at  them  and  seemed 
full  of  good-will.  Persons  smiled  at  them  that  day 
as  they  walked  the  streets  or  stood  spellbound  before  the 
shop  windows,  and  some  who  saw  them  felt  a  lump  rise  in 
their  throats  at  the  memories  they  aroused  of  forgotten 
days:  the  three  seemed  to  bring  the  very  air  of  the  hills 
with  them  into  that  teeming  place,  and  many  who  had 


"  Of  their  progress  along  Broadway. 


254 


JOURNEYS  TO  GO  255 

come  to  the  city  with  high  hopes,  now  in  the  shackles  of 
drudgery,  looked  after  them.  They  were  a  curious  party, 
indeed  :  the  straight,  dark  girl  with  the  light  in  her  eyes 
and  the  color  in  her  cheeks  ;  the  quaint,  rugged  figure  of 
the  elderly  man  in  his  swallow-tail  and  brass  buttons  and 
square-toed,  country  boots  ;  and  the  old  soldier  hobbling 
along  with  the  aid  of  his  green  umbrella,  clad  in  the  blue 
he  had  loved  and  suffered  for.  Had  they  remained  until 
Sunday,  they  might  have  read  an  amusing  account  of 
their  visit,  —  of  Jethro's  suppers  of  crackers  and  milk  at  the 
Astor  House,  of  their  progress  along  Broadway.  The 
story  was  not  lacking  in  pathos,  either,  and  in  real  human 
feeling,  for  the  young  reporter  who  wrote  it  had  come, 
not  many  years  before,  from  the  hills  himself.  But  by 
that  time  they  had  accomplished  another  marvellous  span 
in  their  journey,  and  were  come  to  Washington  itself. 


CHAPTER   IV 

" JUDGE  BASS   AND   PARTY  " 

CYNTHIA  was  deprived,  too,  of  that  thrilling  first  view 
of  the  capital  from  the  train  which  she  had  pictured,  for 
night  had  fallen  when  they  reached  Washington  likewise. 
As  the  train  slowed  down,  she  leaned  a  little  out  of  the 
window  and  looked  at  the  shabby  houses  and  shabby 
streets  revealed  by  the  flickering  lights  in  the  lamp-posts. 
Finally  they  came  to  a  shabby  station,  were  seized  upon 
by  a  grinning  darky  hackman,  who  would  not  take  no 
for  an  answer,  and  were  rattled  away  to  the  hotel. 
Although  he  had  been  to  Washington  but  once  in  his 
life  before,  as  a  Lincoln  elector,  Jethro  was  greeted  as  an 
old  acquaintance  by  this  clerk  also. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Judge,"  said  he,  genially.  "  Train 
late  ?  You've  come  purty  nigh  missin'  supper." 

A  familiar  of  great  men,  the  clerk  was  not  offended 
when  he  got  no  response  to  his  welcome.  Cynthia  and 
Ephraim,  intent  on  getting  rid  of  some  of  the  dust  of 
their  journey,  followed  the  colored  hall-boy  up  the  stairs. 
Jethro  stood  poring  over  the  register,  when  a  distin 
guished-looking  elderly  gentleman  with  a  heavy  gray 
beard  and  eyes  full  of  shrewdness  and  humor  paused  at 
the  desk  to  ask  a  question. 

"Er  —  Senator?" 

The  senator  (for  such  he  was,  although  he  did  not 
represent  Jethro's  state)  turned  and  stared,  and  then 
held  out  his  hand  with  unmistakable  warmth. 

"Jethro  Bass,"  he  exclaimed,  "upon  my  word!  What 
are  you  doing  in  Washington  ?  " 

Jethro  took  the  hand,  but  he  did  not  answer  the 
question. 

266 


"JUDGE  BASS  AND  PARTY"       257 

"  Er  —  Senator  —  when  can  I  see  the  President  ?  " 

"  Why,"  answered  the  senator,  somewhat  taken  aback,  — 
"why,  to-night,  if  you  like.  I'm  going  to  the  White 
House  in  a  few  minutes  and  I  think  I  can  arrange  it." 

"T-to-morrow  afternoon  —  t-to-morrow  afternoon?" 

The  senator  cast  his  eye  over  the  swallow-tail  coat  and 
stove-pipe  hat  tilted  back,  and  laughed. 

"  Thunder  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  haven't  changed  a  bit. 
I'm  beginning  to  look  like  an  old  man  ;  but  that  milk-and- 
crackers  diet  seems  to  keep  you  young,  Jethro.  I'll  fix  it 
for  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"  W-what  time  —  two  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'll  fix  it  for  two  to-morrow  afternoon.  I  never 
could  understand  you,  Jethro  ;  you  don't  do  things  like 
other  men.  Do  I  smell  gunpowder?  What's  up  now  — 
what  do  you  want  to  see  Grant  about  ?  " 

Jethro  cast  his  eye  around  the  corridor,  where  a  few 
men  were  taking  their  ease  after  supper,  and  looked  at 
the  senator  mysteriously. 

"  Any  place  where  we  can  talk?  "  he  demanded. 

"  We  can  go  into  the  writing  room  and  shut  the  door," 
answered  the  senator,  more  amused  than  ever. 

When  Cynthia  came  downstairs,  Jethro  was  standing 
with  the  gentleman  in  the  corridor  leading  to  the  dining 
room,  and  she  heard  the  gentleman  say  as  he  took  his 
departure  :  — 

"  I  haven't  forgotten  what  you  did  for  us  in  '70,  Jethro. 
I'll  go  right  along  and  see  to  it  now." 

Cynthia  liked  the  gentleman's  looks,  and  rightly  sur 
mised  that  he  was  one  of  the  big  men  of  the  nation.  She  was 
about  to  ask  Jethro  his  name  when  Ephraim  came  limping 
along  and  put  the  matter  out  of  her  mind,  and  the  three 
went  into  the  almost  empty  dining  room.  There  they 
were  served  with  elaborate  attention  by  a  darky  waiter 
who  had,  in  some  mysterious  way,  learned  Jethro's  name 
and  title.  Cynthia  reflected  with  pride  that  Jethro,  too, 
was  one  of  the  nation's  great  men,  who  could  get  any 
thing  he  wanted  simply  by  coming  to  the  capital  and 
asking  for  it. 


258  CONISTON 

Ephraim  was  very  much  excited  on  finding  himself  in 
Washington,  the  sight  of  the  place  reviving  in  his  mind 
a  score  of  forgotten  incidents  of  the  war.  After  sup 
per  they  found  seats  in  a  corner  of  the  corridor,  where 
a  number  of  people  were  scattered  about,  smoking  and 
talking.  It  did  not  occur  to  Jethro  or  Cynthia,  or 
even  to  Ephraim,  that  these  people  were  all  of  the 
male  sex,  and  on  the  other  hand  the  guests  of  the  hotel 
were  apparently  used  once  in  a  while  to  see  a  lady  from 
the  country  seated  there.  At  any  rate,  Cynthia  was  but 
a  young  girl,  and  her  two  companions,  however  unusual 
their  appearance,  were  clearly  most  respectable.  Jethro, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  hat  tilted,  sat  on  the 
small  of  his  back  rapt  in  meditation  ;  Cynthia,  her  head 
awhirl,  looked  around  her  with  sparkling  eyes ;  while 
Ephraim  was  smoking  a  cigar  he  had  saved  for  just  such 
a  festal  occasion.  He  did  not  see  the  stout  man  with  the 
button  and  corded  hat  until  he  was  almost  on  top  of  him. 

"  Eph  Prescott,  I  believe  !  "  exclaimed  the  stout  one. 
"  How  be  you,  Comrade  ?  " 

Heedless  of  his  rheumatism,  Ephraim  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  dropped  the  cigar,  which  the  stout  one  picked  up  with 
much  difficulty. 

"  Well,"  said  Ephraim,  in  a  voice  that  shook  with  un 
wonted  emotion,  "  you  kin  skin  me  if  it  ain't  Amasy 
Beard  ! "  His  eye  travelled  around  Amasa's  figure. 
"  Wouldn't  a-knowed  you,  I  swan,  I  wouldn't.  Why,  when 
I  seen  you  last,  Amasy,  your  stomach  was  havin'  all  it 
could  do  to  git  hold  of  your  backbone." 

Cynthia  laughed  outright,  and  even  Jethro  sat  up  and 
smiled. 

"  When  was  it  ? "  said  Amasa,  still  clinging  on  to 
Ephraim's  hand  and  incidentally  to  the  cigar,  which 
Ephraim  had  forgotten ;  "  Beaver  Creek,  wahn't  it  ?  " 

"  July  10,  1863,"  said  Ephraim,  instantly. 

Gradually  they  reached  a  sitting  position,  the  cigar  was 
restored  to  its  rightful  owner,  and  Mr.  Beard  was  intro 
duced,  with  some  ceremony,  to  Cynthia  and  Jethro.  From 
Beaver  Creek  they  began  to  fight  the  war  over  again, 


"JUDGE  BASS  AND  PAKTY"  259 

backward  and  forward,  much  to  Cynthia's  edification,  when 
her  attention  was  distracted  by  the  entrance  of  a  street 
band  of  wind  instruments.  As  the  musicians  made  their 
way  to  another  corner  and  began  tuning  up,  she  glanced 
mischievously  at  Jethro,  for  she  knew  his  peculiarities  by 
heart.  One  of  these  was  a  most  violent  detestation  of  any 
but  the  best  music.  He  had  often  given  her  this  excuse, 
laughingly,  for  not  going  to  meeting  in  Coniston.  How 
he  had  come  by  his  love  for  good  music,  Cynthia  never 
knew  —  he  certainly  had  not  heard  much  of  it. 

Suddenly  a  great  volume  of  sound  filled  the  corridor, 
and  the  band  burst  forth  into  what  many  supposed  to  be 
"The  Watch  on  the  Rhine."  Some  people  were  plainly 
delighted  ;  the  veterans,  once  recovered  from  their  sur 
prise,  shouted  their  reminiscences  above  the  music,  undis 
mayed  ;  Jethro  held  on  to  himself  until  the  refrain,  when 
he  began  to  squirm,  and  as  soon  as  the  tune  was  done 
and  the  scattering  applause  had  died  down,  he  reached 
over  and  grabbed  Mr.  Amasa  Beard  by  the  knee.  Mr. 
Beard  did  not  immediately  respond,  being  at  that  moment 
behind  logworks  facing  a  rebel  charge  ;  he  felt  vaguely 
that  some  one  was  trying  to  distract  his  attention,  and 
in  some  lobe  of  his  brain  was  registered  the  fact  that  that 
particular  knee  had  gout  in  it.  Jethro  increased  the 
pressure,  and  then  Mr.  Beard  abandoned  his  logworks 
and  swung  around  with  a  snort  of  pain. 

"  H-how  much  do  they  git  for  that  noise  —  h-how  much 
do  they  git  ?  " 

Mr.  Beard  tenderly  lifted  the  hand  from  his  knee  and 
stared  at  Jethro  with  his  mouth  open,  like  a  man  aroused 
from  a  bad  dream. 

"  Who  ?     What  noise  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  The  Dutchmen,"  said  Jethro.  "  H-how  much  do  they 
git  for  that  noise  ?  " 

"Oh!  "  Mr.  Beard  glanced  at  the  band  and  began  to 
laugh.  He  thought  Jethro  a  queer  customer,  no  doubt, 
but  he  was  a  friend  of  Comrade  Prescott's.  "  By  gum !  " 
said  Mr.  Beard,  "  I  thought  for  a  minute  a  rebel  chain- 
shot  had  took  my  leg  off.  Well,  sir,  I  guess  that  band 


260  CONISTON 

gets  about  two  dollars.  They've  come  in  here  every 
evening  since  I've  been  at  the  hotel." 

"  T-two  dollars  ?  Is  that  the  price  ?  Er  —  you  say  two 
dollars  is  their  price?  " 

"  Thereabouts,"  answered  Mr.  Beard,  uneasily.  Veteran 
as  he  was,  Jethro's  appearance  and  earnestness  were  a  little 
alarming. 

"  You  say  two  dollars  is  their  price  ?  " 

"  Thereabouts,"  shouted  Mr.  Beard,  seating  himself  on 
the  edge  of  his  chair. 

But  Jethro  paid  no  attention  to  him.  He  rose,  unfold 
ing  by  degrees  his  six  feet  two,  and  strode  diagonally 
across  the  corridor  toward  the  band  leader.  Conversa 
tion  was  hushed  at  the  sight  of  his  figure,  a  titter  ran 
around  the  walls,  but  Jethro  was  oblivious  to  these  things. 
He  drew  a  great  calfskin  wallet  from  an  inside  pocket  of 
his  coat,  and  the  band  leader,  a  florid  German,  laid  down 
his  instrument  and  made  an  elaborate  bow.  Jethro  waited 
until  the  man  had  become  upright  and  then  held  out  a 
two-dollar  bill. 

"  Is  that  about  right  for  the  performance?  "  he  said  — 
"  is  that  about  right  ?  " 

"  Ja,  mein  Herr,"  said  the  man,  nodding  vociferously. 

"  I  want  to  pay  what's  right  —  I  want  to  pay  what's 
right,"  said  Jethro. 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  said  the  leader,  finding 
his  English,  "  you  haf  pay  for  all." 

"  P-paid  for  everything  —  everything  to-night  ?  "  de 
manded  Jethro. 

The  leader  spread  out  his  hands. 

"  You  haf  pay  for  one  whole  evening,"  said  he,  and 
bowed  again. 

"  Then  take  it,  take  it,"  said  Jethro,  pushing  the  bill 
into  the  man's  palm ;  "  but  don't  you  come  back  to-night  — 
don't  you  come  back  to-night." 

The  amazed  leader  stared  at  Jethro  —  and  words  failed 
him.  There  was  something  about  this  man  that  compelled 
him  to  obey,  and  he  gathered  up  his  followers  and  led 
the  way  silently  out  of  the  hotel.  Roars  of  laughter  and 


"JUDGE  BASS  AND  PARTY"  261 

applause  arose  on  all  sides  ;  but  Jethro  was  as  one  who 
heard  them  not  as  he  made  his  way  back  to  his  seat 
again. 

"  You  did  a  good  job,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Beard,  ap 
provingly.  "  I'm  going  to  take  Eph  Prescott  down  the 
street  to  see  some  of  the  boys.  Won't  you  come,  too  ?  " 

Mr.  Beard  doubtless  accepted  it  as  one  of  the  man's 
eccentricities  that  Jethro  did  not  respond  to  him,  for 
without  more  ado  he  departed  arm  in  arm  with  Ephraim. 
Jethro  was  looking  at  Cynthia,  who  was  staring  toward 
the  desk  at  the  other  end  of  the  corridor,  her  face  flushed, 
and  her  fingers  closed  over  the  arms  of  her  chair.  It  never 
occurred  to  Jethro  that  she  might  have  been  embarrassed. 

"  W-what's  the  matter,  Cynthy  ?  "  he  asked,  sinking  into 
the  chair  beside  her. 

Her  breath  caught  sharply,  but  she  tried  to  smile  at  him. 
He  did  not  discover  what  was  the  matter  until  long  after 
ward,  when  he  recalled  that  evening  to  mind.  Jethro 
was  a  man  used  to  hotel  corridors,  used  to  sitting  in  an 
attitude  that  led  the  unsuspecting  to  believe  he  was  half 
asleep;  but  no  person  of  note  could  come  or  go  whom  he 
did  not  remember.  He  had  seen  the  distinguished  party 
arrive  at  the  desk,  preceded  by  a  host  of  bell-boys  with 
shawls  and  luggage.  On  the  other  hand,  some  of  the 
distinguished  party  had  watched  the  proceeding  of  pay 
ing  off  the  band  with  no  little  amusement.  Miss  Janet 
Duncan  had  giggled  audibly,  her  mother  had  smiled,  while 
her  father  and  Mr.  Worthington  had  pretended  to  be 
deeply  occupied  with  the  hotel  register.  Somers  was  not 
there.  Bob  Worthington  laughed  heartily  with  the  rest 
until  his  eye,  travelling  down  the  line  of  Jethro's  progress, 
fell  on  Cynthia,  and  now  he  was  striding  across  the  floor 
toward  them.  And  even  in  the  horrible  confusion  of 
that  moment  Cynthia  had  a  vagrant  thought  that  his 
clothes  had  an  enviable  cut  and  became  him  remarkably. 

"  Well,  of  all  things,  to  find  you  here  !  "  he  cried;  "  this 
is  the  best  luck  that  ever  happened.  I  am  glad  to  see  you. 
I  was  going  to  steal  away  to  Brampton  for  a  couple  of  days 
before  the  term  opened,  and  I  meant  to  look  you  up  there. 


262  CONISTON 

And  Mr.  Bass,"  said  Bob,  turning  to  Jethro,  "  I'm  glad 
to  see  you  too." 

Jethro  looked  at  the  young  man  and  smiled  and  held 
out  his  hand.  It  was  evident  that  Bob  was  blissfully  un 
aware  that  hostilities  between  powers  of  no  mean  magnitude 
were  about  to  begin;  that  the  generals  themselves  were  on 
the  ground,  and  that  he  was  holding  treasonable  parley 
with  the  enemy.  The  situation  appealed  to  Jethro,  espe 
cially  as  he  glanced  at  the  backs  of  the  two  gentlemen  facing 
the  desk.  These  backs  seemed  to  him  full  of  expression. 

"  Th-thank  you,  Bob,  th-thank  you,"  he  answered. 

"I  like  the  way  you  fixed  that  band,"  said  Bob;  "I 
haven't  laughed  as  much  for  a  year.  You  hate  music, 
don't  you?  I  hope  you'll  forgive  that  awful  noise  we 
made  outside  of  your  house  last  July,  Mr.  Bass." 

"  You  —  you  make  that  noise,  Bob,  you  —  you  make 
that?" 

"  Well,"  said  Bob,  "  I'm  afraid  I  did  most  of  it.  There 
was  another  fellow  that  helped  some  and  played  the  guitar. 
It  was  pretty  bad,"  he  added,  with  a  side  glance  at  Cyn 
thia,  "but  it  was  meant  for  a  compliment." 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  "  it  was  meant  for  a  compliment,  was 
it?" 

"  Of  course,"  he  answered,  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  turn 
his  attention  entirely  to  her.  "  I  was  for  slipping  away 
right  after  supper,  but  my  father  headed  us  off." 

"  Slipping  away  ?  "  repeated  Cynthia. 

"  You  see,  he  had  a  kind  of  a  reception  and  fireworks 
afterward.  We  didn't  get  away  till  after  nine,  and  then 
I  thought  I'd  have  a  lecture  when  I  got  home." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  asked  Cynthia. 

"  No,"  said  Bob,  "he  didn't  know  where  I'd  been." 

Cynthia  felt  the  blood  rush  to  her  temples,  but  by  habit 
and  instinct  she  knew  when  to  restrain  herself. 

"  Would  it  have  made  any  difference  to  him  where  you 
had  been  ?  "  she  asked  calmly  enough. 

Bob  had  a  presentiment  that  he  was  on  dangerous  ground. 
This  new  and  self-possessed  Cynthia  was  an  enigma  to 
him  —  certainly  a  fascinating  enigma. 


"JUDGE  BASS  AND  PARTY"  263 

"  My  father  would  have  thought  I  was  a  fool  to  go  off 
serenading,"  he  answered,  flushing.  Bob  did  not  like  a 
lie;  he  knew  that  his  father  would  have  been  angry  if  he 
had  heard  he  had  gone  to  Coniston;  he  felt,  in  the  small 
of  his  back,  that  his  father  was  angry  now,  and  guessed 
the  reason. 

She  regarded  him  gravely  as  he  spoke,  and  then  her 
eyes  left  his  face  and  became  fixed  upon  an  object  at  the 
far  end  of  the  corridor.  Bob  turned  in  time  to  see  Janet 
Duncan  swing  on  her  heel  and  follow  her  mother  up  the 
stairs.  He  struggled  to  find  words  to  tide  over  what  he 
felt  was  an  awkward  moment. 

"  We've  had  a  fine  trip,"  he  said,  "  though  I  should 
much  rather  have  stayed  at  home.  The  West  is  a  won 
derful  country,  with  its  canons  and  mountains  and  great 
stretches  of  plain.  My  father  met  us  in  Chicago,  and  we 
came  here.  I  don't  know  why,  because  Washington's 
dead  at  this  time  of  the  year.  I  suppose  it  must  be  on 
account  of  politics."  Looking  at  Jethro  with  a  sudden 
inspiration,  "I  hadn't  thought  of  that." 

Jethro  had  betrayed  no  interest  in  the  conversation. 
He  was  seated,  as  usual,  on  the  small  of  his  back.  But  he 
saw  a  young  man  of  short  stature,  with  a  freckled  face 
and  close-cropped,  curly  red  hair,  come  into  the  corridor 
by  another  entrance  ;  he  saw  Isaac  D.  Worthington  draw 
him  aside  and  speak  to  him,  and  he  saw  the  young  man 
coming  towards  them. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Wetherell  ? "  cried  the  young 
man  joyously,  while  still  ten  feet  away,  "  I'm  awfully  glad 
to  see  you,  upon  my  word,  I  am.  How  long  are  you 
going  to  be  in  Washington  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Duncan,"  answered  Cynthia. 

"Did  Worthy  know  you  were  here?"  demanded  Mr. 
Duncan,  suspiciously. 

"  He  did  when  he  saw  me,"  said  Cynthia,  smiling. 

"  Not  till  then  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Duncan.  "  Say,  Worthy, 
your  father  wants  to  see  you  right  away.  I'm  going  to  be 
in  Washington  a  day  or  two  —  will  you  go  walking  with 
me  to-morrow  morning,  Miss  Wetherell  ?  " 


264  CONISTON 

"  She's  going  walking  with  me,"  said  Bob,  not  in  the 
best  of  tempers. 

"  Then  I'll  go  along,"  said  Mr.  Duncan,  promptly. 

By  this  time  Cynthia  got  up  and  was  holding  out  her 
hand  to  Bob  Worthington.  "I'm  not  going  walking 
with  either  of  you,"  she  said;  "  I  have  another  engage 
ment.  And  I  think  I'll  have  to  say  good  night,  because 
I'm  very  tired." 

"  When  can  I  see  you  ?  "  Both  the  young  men  asked 
the  question  at  once. 

"  Oh,  you'll  have  plenty  of  chances,"  she  answered,  and 
was  gone. 

The  young  men  looked  at  each  other  somewhat  blankly, 
and  then  down  at  Jethro,  who  did  not  seem  to  know  that 
they  were  there,  and  then  they  made  their  way  toward  the 
desk.  But  Isaac  D.  Worthington  and  his  friends  had 
disappeared. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  distinguished-looking  senator 
with  whom  Jethro  had  been  in  conversation  before 
supper  entered  the  hotel.  He  seemed  preoccupied,  and 
heedless  of  the  salutations  he  received  ;  but  when  he 
caught  sight  of  Jethro  he  crossed  the  corridor  rapidly  and 
sat  down  beside  him.  Jethro  did  not  move.  The  corridor 
was  deserted  now,  save  for  the  two. 

"  Bass,"  began  the  senator,  "  what's  the  row  up  in  your 
state?" 

"  H-haven't  heard  of  any  row,"  said  Jethro. 

"  What  did  you  come  to  Washington  for  ?  "  demanded 
the  senator,  somewhat  sharply. 

"  Er  —  vacation,"  said  Jethro,  "  vacation  —  to  show  my 
gal,  Cynthy,  the  capital." 

"  Now  see  here,  Bass,"  said  the  senator,  "  I  don't  forget 
what  happened  in  '70.  I  don't  object  to  wading  through  a 
swarm  of  bees  to  get  a  little  honey  for  a  friend,  but  I 
think  I'm  entitled  to  know  why  he  wants  it." 

"  G-got  the  honey  ?  "  asked  Jethro. 

The  senator  took  off  his  hat  and  wiped  his  brow,  and 
then  he  stole  a  look  at  Jethro,  with  apparently  barren 
results. 


"JUDGE  BASS  AND  PARTY  "  265 

"  Jethro,"  he  said,  "people  say  you  run  that  state  of 
yours  right  up  to  the  handle.  What's  all  this  trouble 
about  a  two-for-a-cent  postmastership  ?  " 

"  H-haven't  heard  of  any  trouble,"  said  Jethro. 

"  Well,  there  is  trouble,"  said  the  senator,  losing  pa 
tience  at  last.  "  When  I  told  Grant  you  were  here  and 
mentioned  that  little  Brampton  matter  to  him,  —  it  didn't 
seem  much  to  me,  —  the  bees  began  to  fly  pretty  thick,  I 
can  tell  you.  I  saw  right  away  that  somebody  had  been 
stirring  'em  up.  It  looks  to  me,  Jethro,"  said  the  senator 
gravely,  "  it  looks  to  me  as  if  you  had  something  of  a 
rebellion  on  your  hands." 

"  W-what'd  Grant  say?"  Jethro  inquired. 

"  Well,  he  didn't  say  a  great  deal  —  he  isn't  much  of  a 
talker,  you  know,  but  what  he  did  say  was  to  the  point. 
It  seems  that  your  man,  Prescott,  doesn't  come  from 
Brampton,  in  the  first  place,  and  Grant  says  that  while  he 
likes  soldiers,  he  hasn't  any  use  for  the  kind  that  want  to 
lie  down  and  make  the  government  support  'em.  I'll  tell 
you  what  I  found  out.  Worthington  and  Duncan  wired 
the  President  this  morning,  and  they've  gone  up  to  the 
White  House  now.  They've  got  a  lot  of  railroad  interests 
back  of  them,  and  they've  taken  your  friend  Sutton  into 
camp  ;  but  I  managed  to  get  the  President  to  promise  not  to 
do  anything  until  he  saw  you  to-morrow  afternoon  at  two." 

Jethro  sat  silent  so  long  that  the  senator  began  to  think 
he  wasn't  going  to  answer  him  at  all.  In  his  opinion,  he 
had  told  Jethro  some  very  grave  facts. 

"  W-when  are  you  going  to  see  the  President  again  ?  " 
said  Jethro,  at  last. 

"  To-morrow  morning,"  answered  the  senator ;  "  he 
wants  me  to  walk  over  with  him  to  see  the  postmaster- 
general,  who  is  sick  in  bed." 

"  What  time  do  you  leave  the  White  House  ?  " 

"  At  eleven,"  said  the  senator,  very  much  puzzled. 

"  Er — Grant  ever  pay  any  attention  to  an  old  soldier 
on  the  street  ?  " 

The  senator  glanced  at  Jethro,  and  a  twinkle  came  into 
his  eye. 


266  CONISTON 

"  Sometimes  he  has  been  known  to,"  he  answered. 

"  You  —  you  ever  pay  any  attention  to  an  old  soldier 
on  the  street  ?  " 

Then  the  senator's  eyes  began  to  snap. 

"  Sometimes  I  have  been  known  to." 

"  Er  —  suppose  an  old  soldier  was  in  front  of  the  White 
House  at  eleven  o'clock  —  an  old  soldier  with  a  gal  — 
suppose  ?  "  , 

The  senator  saw  the  point,  and  took  no  pains  to  restrain 
his  admiration. 

"  Jethro,"  he  said,  slapping  him  on  the  shoulder,  "  I'm 
willing  to  bet  a  few  thousand  dollars  you'll  run  your  state 
for  a  while  yet." 


CHAPTER   V 

COUSIN  EPHEAIM'S  COMRADE 

"  HEARD  you  say  you  was  goin'  for  a  walk  this  morn 
ing,  Cynthy,"  Jethro  remarked,  as  they  sat  at  breakfast 
the  next  morning. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  answered  Cynthia,  "  Cousin  Eph 
and  I  are  going  out  to  see  Washington,  and  he  is  to  show 
me  the  places  that  he  remembers."  She  looked  at 
Jethro  appealingly.  "  Aren't  you  coming  with  us  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  M-meet  you  at  eleven,  Cynthy,"  he  said. 

"  Eleven  !  "  exclaimed  Cynthia  in  dismay,  "  that's  al 
most  dinner-time." 

"  M-nieet  you  in  front  of  the  White  House  at  eleven," 
said  Jethro,  "  plumb  in  front  of  it,  under  a  tree." 

By  half-past  seven,  Cynthia  and  Ephraim  with  his  green 
umbrella  were  in  the  street,  but  it  would  be  useless  to 
burden  these  pages  with  a  description  of  all  the  sights 
they  saw,  and  with  the  things  that  Ephraim  said  about 
them,  and  incidentally  about  the  war.  After  New  York, 
much  of  Washington  would  then  have  seemed  small  and 
ragged  to  any  one  who  lacked  ideals  and  a  national  sense, 
but  Washington  was  to  Cynthia  as  Athens  to  a  Greek. 
To  her  the  marble  Capitol  shining  on  its  hill  was  a  sacred 
temple,  and  the  great  shaft  that  struck  upward  through 
the  sunlight,  though  yet  unfinished,  a  fitting  memorial 
to  him  who  had  led  the  barefoot  soldiers  of  the  colonies 
through  ridicule  to  victory.  They  looked  up  many  in 
stitutions  and  monuments,  they  even  had  time  to  go  to 
the  Navy  Yard,  and  they  saved  the  contemplation  of 
the  White  House  till  the  last.  The  White  House,  which 

267 


268  CONISTON 

Cynthia  thought  the  finest  and  most  graceful  mansion  in 
all  the  world,  in  its  simplicity  and  dignity,  a  fitting  dwell 
ing  for  the  chosen  of  the  nation.  Under  the  little  tree 
which  Jethro  had  mentioned,  Ephraim  stood  bareheaded 
before  the  walls  which  had  sheltered  Lincoln,  which  were 
now  the  home  of  the  greatest  of  his  captains,  Grant :  and 
wondrous  emotions  played  upon  the  girl's  spirit,  too,  as  she 
gazed.  They  forgot  the  present  in  the  past  and  the 
future,  and  they  did  not  see  the  two  gentlemen  who  had 
left  the  portico  some  minutes  before  and  were  now  coming 
toward  them  along  the  sidewalk. 

The  two  gentlemen,  however,  slowed  their  steps  invol 
untarily  at  a  sight  which  was  uncommon,  even  in  Wash 
ington.  The  girl's  arm  was  in  the  soldier's,  and  her  face, 
which  even  in  repose  had  a  true  nobility,  now  was  alight 
with  an  inspiration  that  is  seen  but  seldom  in  a  lifetime. 
In  marble,  could  it  have  been  wrought  by  a  great  sculp 
tor,  men  would  have  dreamed  before  it  of  high  things. 

The  two,  indeed,  might  have  stood  for  a  group,  the  girl 
as  the  spirit,  the  man  as  the  body  which  had  risked  and 
suffered  all  for  it,  and  still  held  it  fast.  For  the  honest 
face  of  the  soldier  reflected  that  spirit  as  truly  as  a 
mirror. 

Ephraim  was  aroused  from  his  thoughts  by  Cynthia 
nudging  his  arm.  He  started,  put  on  his  hat,  and  stared 
very  hard  at  a  man  smoking  a  cigar  who  was  standing 
before  him.  Then  he  stiffened  and  raised  his  hand  in  an 
involuntary  salute.  The  man  smiled.  He  was  not  very 
tall,  he  had  a  closely  trimmed  light  beard  that  was  grow 
ing  a  little  gray,  he  wore  a  soft  hat  something  like 
Ephraim's,  a  black  tie  on  a  white  pleated  shirt,  and  his 
eyeglasses  were  pinned  to  his  vest.  His  eyes  were  all 
kindness. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Comrade  ?  "  he  said,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

"  General,"  said  Ephraim,  "  Mr.  President,"  he  added, 
correcting  himself,  "  how  be  you  ?  "  He  shifted  the  green 
umbrella,  and  shook  the  hand  timidly  but  warmly. 

"  General  will  do,"  said  the  President,  with  a  smiling 


"A  man  smoking  a  cigar. 


270  CONISTON 

glance  at  the  tall  senator  beside  him,  "  I  like  to  be  called 
General." 

"  You've  growed  some  older,  General,"  said  Ephraim, 
scanning  his  face  with  a  simple  reverence  and  affection, 
"  but  you  hain't  changed  so  much  as  I'd  a  thought  since  I 
saw  you  whittlin'  under  a  tree  beside  the  Lacy  house  in 
the  Wilderness." 

"  My  duty  has  changed  some,"  answered  the  President, 
quite  as  simply.  He  added  with  a  touch  of  sadness,  "  I 
liked  those  days  best,  Comrade." 

"  Well,  I  guess  !  "  exclaimed  Ephraim,  "  you're  general 
over  everything  now,  but  you're  not  a  mite  bigger  man 
to  me  than  you  was." 

The  President  took  the  compliment  as  it  was  meant. 

"  I  found  it  easier  to  run  an  army  than  I  do  to  run  a 
country,"  he  said. 

Ephraim's  blue  eyes  flamed  with  indignation. 

"  I  don't  take  no  stock  in  the  bull-dogs  and  the  gold 
harness  at  Long  Branch  and  —  and  all  them  lies  the 
dratted  newspapers  print  about  you," — Ephraim  hammered 
his  umbrella  on  the  pavement  as  an  expression  of  his  feel 
ings, —  "and  what's  more,  the  people  don't." 

The  President  glanced  at  the  senator  again,  and  laughed 
a  little, quietly. 

"Thank  you,  Comrade,"  he  said. 

"You're  a  plain,  common  man,"  continued  Ephraim, 
paying  the  highest  compliment  known  to  rural  New  Eng 
land;  "the  people  think  a  sight  of  you,  or  they  wouldn't 
hev  chose  you  twice,  General." 

"  So  you  were  in  the  Wilderness  ?  "  said  the  President, 
adroitly  changing  the  subject. 

"Yes,  General.  I  was  pressed  into  orderly  duty  the 
first  day  —  that's  when  I  saw  you  whittlin'  under  the  tree, 
and  you  didn't  seem  to  have  no  more  consarn  than  if  it 
had  been  a  company  drill.  Had  a  cigar  then,  too.  But 
the  second  day,  May  the  6th,  I  was  with  the  regiment. 
I'll  never  forget  that  day,"  said  Ephraim,  warming  to 
the  subject,  "  when  we  was  fightin'  Ewell  up  and  down 
the  Orange  Turnpike  Road,  playin'  hide-and-seek  with  the 


COUSIN  EPHRAIM'S  COMRADE  271 

Johnnies  in  the  woods.  You  remember  them  woods,  Gen 
eral  ?  " 

The  President  nodded,  his  cigar  between  his  teeth.  He 
looked  as  though  the  scene  were  coming  back  to  him. 

"  Never  seen  such  woods,"  said  Ephraim,  "  scrub  oak 
and  pine  and  cedars  and  young  stuff  springin'  up  until  you 
couldn't  see  the  length  of  a  company,  and  the  Rebs  jump- 
in'  and  hollerin'  around  and  shoutin'  every  which  way. 
After  a  while  a  lot  of  them  saplings  was  mowed  off  clean 
by  the  bullets,  and  then  the  woods  caught  afire,  and  that 
was  hell." 

"  Were  you  wounded  ?  "  asked  the  President,  quickly. 

"  l  was  hurt  some,  in  the  hip,"  answered  Ephraim. 

"  Some  !  "  exclaimed  Cynthia,  "  why,  you  have  walked 
lame  ever  since."  She  knew  the  story  by  heart,  but  the 
recital  of  it  never  failed  to  stir  her  blood.  "They  car 
ried  him  out  just  as  he  was  going  to  be  burned  up,  in  a 
blanket  hung  from  rifles,  and  he  was  in  the  hospital  nine 
months,  and  had  to  come  home  for  a  while." 

"  Cyntny,"  said  Ephraim  in  gentle  reproof,  "  I  callate 
the  General  don't  want  to  hear  that." 

Cynthia  flushed,  but  the  President  looked  at  her  with 
an  added  interest. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "that  seems  to  me  the 
vital  part  of  the  story.  If  I  remember  rightly,"  he  added, 
turning  again  to  Ephraim,  "the  Fifth  Corps  was  on  the 
Orange  turnpike.  What  brigade  were  you  in  ?  " 

"The  third  brigade  of  the  First  Division,"  answered 
Ephraim. 

"  Griffin's,"  said  the  President.  "  There  were  several 
splendid  New  England  regiments  in  that  brigade.  I  sent 
them  with  Griffin  to  help  Sheridan  at  Five  Forks." 

"  I  was  thar,  too,"  cried  Ephraim. 

"  What  !  "  said  the  President,  "  with  the  lame  hip  ?  " 

"  Well,  General,  I  went  back,  I  couldn't  help  it. 
I  couldn't  stay  away  from  the  boys  —  just  couldn't.  I 
didn't  limp  as  bad  then  as  I  do  now.  I  wahn't  much  use 
anywhere  else,  and  I  had  1'arned  to  fight.  Five  Forks  !  " 
exclaimed  Ephraim.  "  I  call  that  day  to  mind  as  if  it  was 


272  CONISTON 

yesterday.  I  remember  how  the  boys  yelled  when  they 
told  us  we  was  goin'  to  Sheridan.  We  got  started  about 
daylight,  and  it  took  us  till  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
to  git  into  position.  The  woods  was  just  comin'  a  little 
green,  and  the  white  dogwoods  was  bloorain'  around. 
Sheridan,  he  galloped  up  to  the  line  with  that  black  horse 
of  his'n  and  hollered  out,  '  Come  on,  boys,  go  in  at  a  clean 
jump  or  you  won't  ketch  one  of  'em.'  You  know  how 
men,  even  veterans  like  that  Fifth  Corps,  sometimes  hev 
to  be  pushed  into  a  fight.  There  was  a  man  from  a  Maine 
regiment  got  shot  in  the  head  fust  thing.  'I'm  killed,' 
said  he.  '  Oh,  no,  you're  not,'  says  Sheridan, '  pick  up  your 
gun  and  go  for  'em.'  But  he  was  killed.  Well,  we  went 
for  'em  through  all  the  swamps  and  briers  and  everything, 
and  Sheridan,  thar  in  front,  had  got  the  battle-flag  and 
was  rushin'  round  with  it  swearin'  and  pray  in'  and  shoutin', 
and  the  first  thing  we  knowed  he'd  jumped  his  horse  clean 
over  their  logworks  and  landed  right  on  top  of  the  John 
nies." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  President,  "  that  was  Sheridan,  sure 
enough." 

"  Mr.  President,"  said  the  senator,  who  stood  by  won- 
deringly  while  General  Grant  had  lost  himself  in  this  con 
versation,  "  do  you  realize  what  time  it  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  President,  "  we  must  go  on.  What 
was  your  rank,  Comrade  ?  " 

"  Sergeant,  General." 

"  I  hope  you  have  got  a  good  pension  for  that  hip,"  said 
the  President,  kindly.  It  may  be  well  to  add  that  he 
was  not  always  so  incautious,  but  this  soldier  bore  the 
unmistakable  stamp  of  simplicity  and  sincerity  on  his 
face. 

Ephraim  hesitated. 

"  He  never  would  ask  for  a  pension,  General,"  said 
Cynthia. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  President  in  real  astonish 
ment,  "  are  you  so  rich  as  all  that  ?  "  and  he  glanced  at 
the  green  umbrella. 

"  Well,    General,"   said    Ephraim,   uncomfortably,    "  I 


COUSIN  EPHRAIM'S   COMRADE  273 

never  liked  the  notion  of  gittin'  paid  for  it.  You  see,  I 
was  what  they  call  a  war-Democrat." 

"  Good  Lord  !  "  said  the  President,  but  more  to  him 
self.  "  What  do  you  do  now  ?  " 

"  I  callate  to  make  harness,"  answered  Ephraim. 

"  Only  he  can't  make  it  any  more  on  account  of  his 
rheumatism,  Mr.  President,"  Cynthia  put  in. 

"  I  think  you  might  call  me  General,  too,"  he  said,  with 
the  grace  that  many  simple  people  found  inherent  in  him. 
"  And  may  I  ask  your  name,  young  lady  ?  " 

"  Cynthia  Wetherell  —  General,"  she  said  smiling. 

"  That  sounds  more  natural,"  said  the  President,  and 
then  to  Ephraim,  "  Your  daughter  ?  " 

"I  couldn't  think  more  of  her  if  she  was,"  answered 
Ephraim ;  "  Cynthy's  pulled  me  through  some  tight  spells. 
Her  mother  was  my  cousin,  General.  My  name's  Pres- 
cott — Ephraim  Prescott." 

"  Ephraim  Prescott  !  "  ejaculated  the  President,  sharply, 
taking  his  cigar  from  his  mouth,  "  Ephraim  Prescott  !  " 

"  Prescott  —  that's  right  —  Prescott,  General,"  repeated 
Ephraim,  sorely  puzzled  by  these  manifestations  of  amaze 
ment. 

"  What  did  you  come  to  Washington  for  ?  "  asked  the 
President. 

"  Well,  General,  I  kind  of  hate  to  tell  you  —  I  didn't 
intend  to  mention  that.  I  guess  I  won't  say  nothin' 
about  it,"  he  added,  "  we've  had  such  a  sociable  time.  I've 
always  b'en  a  little  mite  ashamed  of  it,  General,  ever  since 
'twas  first  mentioned." 

"Good  Lord!"  said  the  President  again,  and  then  he 
looked  at  Cynthia.  "What  is  it,  Miss  Cynthia?"  he 
asked. 

It  was  now  Cynthia's  turn  to  be  a  little  confused. 

"  Uncle  Jethro  —  that  is,  Mr.  Bass "  (the  President 
nodded),  "  went  to  Cousin  Eph  when  he  couldn't  make 
harness  any  more  and  said  he'd  give  him  the  Brampton 
post-office." 

The  President's  eyes  met  the  senator's,  and  both  gentle 
men  laughed.  Cynthia  bit  her  lip,  not  seeing  any  cause 


274  CONISTON 

for  mirth  in  her  remark,  while  Ephraim  looked  uncom 
fortable  and  mopped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

"  He  said  he'd  give  it  to  him,  did  he?  "  said  the  Presi 
dent.  "  Is  Mr.  Bass  your  uncle  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  General,"  replied  Cynthia,  "  he's  really  no 
relation.  He's  done  everything  for  me,  and  I  live  with 
him  since  my  father  died.  He  was  going  to  meet  us 
here,"  she  continued,  looking  around  hurriedly,  "  I'm  sure 
I  can't  think  what's  kept  him." 

"  Mr.  President,  we  are  half  an  hour  late  already,"  said 
the  senator,  hurriedly. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  President,  "  I  suppose  I  must  go. 
Good-by,  Miss  Cynthia,"  said  he,  taking  the  girl's  hand 
warmly.  "  Good-by,  Comrade.  If  ever  you  want  to  see 
General  Grant,  just  send  in  your  name.  Good-by." 

The  President  lifted  his  hat  politely  to  Cynthia  and 
passed.  He  said  something  to  the  senator  which  they  did 
not  hear,  and  the  senator  laughed  heartily.  Ephraim  and 
Cynthia  watched  them  until  they  were  out  of  sight. 

"  Godfrey  !  "  exclaimed  Ephraim,  "  they  told  me  he 
was  hard  to  talk  to.  Why,  Cynthy,  he's  as  simple  as 
a  child." 

"  I've  always  thought  that  all  great  men  must  be  simple," 
said  Cynthia;  "Uncle  Jethro  is." 

"  To  think  that  the  President  of  the  United  States  stood 
talkin'  to  us  on  the  sidewalk  for  half  an  hour,"  said 
Ephraira,  clutching  Cynthia's  arm.  "  Cynthy,  I'm  glad  we 
didn't  press  that  post-office  matter  —  it  was  worth  more 
to  me  than  all  the  post-offices  in  the  Union  to  have  that 
talk  with  General  Grant." 

They  waited  some  time  longer  under  the  tree,  happy  in 
the  afterglow  of  this  wonderful  experience.  Presently  a 
clock  struck  twelve. 

"  Why,  it's  dinner-time,  Cynthy,"  said  Ephraim.  "  I 
guess  Jethro  haint'  a-comin'  —  must  hev  b'en  delayed  by 
some  of  them  politicians." 

"  It's  the  first  time  I  ever  knew  him  to  miss  an  ap 
pointment,"  said  Cynthia,  as  they  walked  back  to  the 
hotel. 


COUSIN  EPHRAIM'S  COMRADE  275 

Jethro  was  not  in  the  corridor,  so  they  passed  on  to  the 
dining  room  and  looked  eagerly  from  group  to  group. 
Jethro  was  not  there,  either,  but  Cynthia  heard  some  one 
laughing  above  the  chatter  of  the  guests,  and  drew  back 
into  the  corridor.  She  had  spied  the  Duncans  and  the 
Worthingtons  making  merry  by  themselves  at  a  corner 
table,  and  it  was  Somers's  laugh  that  she  heard.  Bob,  too, 
sitting  next  to  Miss  Duncan,  was  much  amused  about  some 
thing.  Suddenly  Cynthia's  exaltation  over  the  incident 
of  the  morning  seemed  to  leave  her,  and  Bob  Worthing- 
ton's  words  which  she  had  pondered  over  in  the  night 
came  back  to  her  with  renewed  force.  He  did  not  find  it 
necessary  to  steal  away  to  see  Miss  Duncan.  Why  should 
he  have  "  stolen  away  "  to  see  her  ?  Was  it  because  she 
was  a  country  girl,  and  poor  ?  That  was  true ;  but  on  the 
other  hand,  did  she  not  live  in  the  sunlight,  as  it  were,  of 
Uncle  Jethro's  greatness,  and  was  it  not  an  honor  to  come 
to  his  house  and  see  any  one  ?  And  why  had  Mr.  Worth- 
ington  turned  his  back  on  Jethro,  and  sent  for  Bob  when 
he  was  talking  to  them  ?  Cynthia  could  not  understand 
these  things,  and  her  pride  was  sorely  wounded  by  them. 

"  Perhaps  Jethro's  in  his  room,"  suggested  Ephraim. 

And  indeed  they  found  him  there  seated  on  the  bed, 
poring  over  some  newspapers,  and  both  in  a  breath  de 
manded  where  he  had  been.  Ephraim  did  not  wait  for  an 
answer. 

"  We  seen  General  Grant,  Jethro,"  he  cried;  "while  we 
was  waitin'  for  you  under  the  tree  he  come  up  and  stood 
talkin'  to  us  half  an  hour.  Full  half  an  hour,  wahn't  it, 
Cynthy?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Cynthia,  forgetting  her  own  griev 
ance  at  the  recollection;  "  only  it  didn't  seem  nearly  that 
long." 

"  W-want  to  know  !  "  exclaimed  Jethro,  in  astonishment, 
putting  down  his  paper.  "  H-how  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  Come  right  up  and  spoke  to  us,"  said  Ephraim,  in  a 
tone  he  might  have  used  to  describe  a  miracle,  "jest  as  if 
he  was  common  folk.  Never  had  a  more  sociable  talk 
with  anybody.  Why,  there  was  times  when  I  clean  forgot 


276  CONISTON 

he  was  President  of  the  United  States.  The  boys  won't 
believe  it  when  we  git  back  at  Coniston." 

And  Ephraim,  full  of  his  subject,  began  to  recount  from 
the  beginning  the  marvellous  affair,  occasionally  appeal 
ing  to  Cynthia  for  confirmation.  How  he  had  lived  over 
again  the  Wilderness  and  Five  Forks;  how  the  General 
had  changed  since  he  had  seen  him  whittling  under  a  tree ; 
how  the  General  had  asked  about  his  pension. 

"  D-didn't  mention  the  post-office,  did  you,  Ephraim  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  replied  Ephraim,  "  I  didn't  like  to  exactly. 
You  see,  we  was  havin'  such  a  good  time  I  didn't  want  to 
spoil  it,  but  Cynthy  —  " 

"  I  told  the  President  about  it,  Uncle  Jethro;  I  told  him 
how  sick  Cousin  Eph  had  been,  and  that  you  were  going  to 
give  him  the  postmastership  because  he  couldn't  work  any 
more  with  his  hands." 

The  training  of  a  lifetime  had  schooled  Jethro  not  to 
betray  surprise. 

"  K-kind  of  mixin'  up  in  politics,  hain't  you,  Cynthy  ? 
P-President  say  he'd  give  you  the  postmastership,  Eph  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  He  didn't  say  nothin'  about  it,  Jethro,"  answered 
Ephraim  slowly;  "  I  callate  he  has  other  views  for  the  place, 
and  he  was  too  kind  to  come  right  out  with  'em  and  spoil 
our  mornin'.  You  see,  Jethro,  I  wahn't  only  a  sergeant, 
and  Brampton's  gittin'  to  be  a  big  town." 

"But,  surely,"  cried  Cynthia,  who  could  scarcely  wait 
for  him  to  finish,  "  surely  you're  going  to  give  Cousin  Eph 
the  post-office,  aren't  you,  Uncle  Jethro?  All  you  have 
to  do  is  to  tell  the  President  that  you  want  it  for  him. 
Why,  I  had  an  idea  that  we  came  down  for  that." 

"  Now,  Cynthy,"  Ephraim  put  in,  deprecatingly. 

"Who  else  would  get  the  post-office?"  asked  Cynthia. 
"  Surely  you're  not  going  to  let  Mr.  Sutton  have  it  for 
Dave  Wheelock!" 

"  Er  —  Cynthy,"  said  Jethro,  slyly,  "  w-what'd  you  say 
to  me  once  about  interferin'  with  women's  fixin's  ?  " 

Cynthia  saw  the  point.  She  perceived  also  that  the 
mazes  of  politics  were  not  to  be  understood  by  a  young 


COUSIN  EPHRAIM'S   COMRADE  277 

woman,  or  even  by  an  old  soldier.  She  laughed  and  seized 
Jethro's  hands  and  pulled  him  from  the  bed. 

"  We  won't  get  any  dinner  unless  we  hurry,"  she  said. 

When  they  reached  the  dining  room  she  was  relieved  to 
discover  that  the  party  in  the  corner  had  gone. 

In  the  afternoon  there  were  many  more  sights  to  be 
viewed,  but  they  were  back  in  the  hotel  again  by  half-past 
four,  because  Ephraim's  Wilderness  leg  had  its  limits  of 
endurance.  Jethro  (though  he  had  not  mentioned  the  fact 
to  them)  had  gone  to  the  White  House. 

It  was  during  the  slack  hours  that  our  friend  the  sena 
tor,  whose  interest  in  the  matter  of  the  Brampton  post- 
office  outweighed  for  the  present  certain  grave  problems 
of  the  Administration  in  which  he  was  involved,  hurried 
into  the  Willard  Hotel,  looking  for  Jethro  Bass.  He 
found  him  without  much  trouble  in  his  usual  attitude, 
occupying  one  of  the  chairs  in  the  corridor. 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  the  senator,  with  a  touch  of  eager 
ness  he  did  not  often  betray,  "  did  you  see  Grant  ?  How 
about  your  old  soldier?  He's  one  of  the  most  delightful 
characters  I  ever  met  —  simple  as  a  child,"  and  he  laughed 
at  the  recollection.  "  That  was  a  masterstroke  of  yours, 
Bass,  putting  him  under  that  tree  with  that  pretty  girl. 
I  doubt  if  you  ever  did  anything  better  in  your  life.  Did 
they  tell  you  about  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jethro,  "  they  told  me  about  it." 

"  And  how  about  Grant  ?     What  did  he  say  to  you  ?  " 

"  W-well,  I  went  up  there  and  sent  in  my  card. 
D-didn't  have  to  wait  a  great  while,  as  I  was  pretty  early, 
and  soon  he  came  in,  smokin'  a  black  cigar,  head  bent  for 
ward  a  little.  D-didn't  ask  me  to  sit  down,  and  what 
talkin'  we  did  we  did  standin'.  D-didn't  ask  me  what  he 
could  do  for  me,  what  I  wanted,  or  anything  else,  but  just 
stood  there,  and  I  stood  there.  F-fust  time  in  my  life  I 
didn't  know  how  to  commence  or  what  to  say;  looked  — 
looked  at  me  —  didn't  take  his  eye  off  me.  After  a  while 
I  got  started,  somehow;  told  him  I  was  there  to  ask  him 
to  appoint  Ephraim  Prescott  to  the  Brampton  post-office 
—  t-told  him  all  about  Ephraim  from  the  time  he  was 


278  CONISTON 

rocked  in  the  cradle  —  never  was  so  hard  put  that  I  could 
remember.  T-told  him  how  Ephraim  shook  butternuts 
off  my  father's  tree  —  for  all  I  know.  T-told  him  all  about 
Ephraim's  war  record  —  leastways  all  I  could  call  to  mind 

—  and,  by  Godfrey!  before  I  got  through,  I  wished  I'd 
listened  to  more  of  it.     T-told  him  about  Ephraim's  Wil 
derness  bullets  —  t-told  him  about  Ephraim's  rheumatism, 

—  how  it  bothered  him  when  he  went  to  bed  and  when  he 
got  up  again." 

If  Jethro  had  glanced  at  his  companion,  he  would  have 
seen  the  senator  was  shaking  with  silent  and  convulsive 
laughter. 

"All  the  time  I  talked  to  him  I  didn't  see  a  muscle 
move  in  his  face,"  Jethro  continued,  "  so  I  started  in 
again,  and  he  looked  —  looked  —  looked  right  at  me. 
W-wouldn't  wink  —  don't  think  he  winked  once  while  I 
was  in  that  room.  I  watched  him  as  close  as  I  could,  and 
I  watched  to  see  if  a  muscle  moved  or  if  I  was  makin'  any 
impression.  All  he  would  do  was  to  stand  there  and  look 

—  look  —  look.     K-kept  me  there  ten  minutes  and  never 
opened  his  mouth  at  all.     Hardest  man  to  talk  to  I  ever 
met  —  never  see  a  man  before  but  what  I  could  get  him 
to  say  somethin',  if  it  was  only  a  cuss  word.     I  got  tired 
of  it  after  a  while,  made  up  my  mind  that  I  had  found  one 
man  I  couldn't  move.     Then  what  bothered  me  was  to 
get  out  of   that  room.    If  I'd  a  had  a  Bible   I  believe 
I'd  a  read  it  to  him.     I  didn't  know  what  to  say,  but  I 
did  say  this  after  a  while  :  — 

"  '  W-well,  Mr.  President,  I  guess  I've  kept  you  long 
enough  —  g-guess  you're  a  pretty  busy  man.  H-hope 
you'll  give  Mr.  Prescott  that  postmastership.  Er  —  er  — 
good-by.' 

"  '  Wait,  sir,'  he  said. 

"'Yes,'  I  said,  Til  wait.' 

" '  Thought  you  was  goin'  to  give  him  that  postmaster- 
ship,  Mr.  Bass,'  he  said." 

At  this  point  the  senator  could  not  control  his  mirth, 
and  the  empty  corridor  echoed  his  laughter. 

"  By  thunder !  what  did  you  say  to  that  ?  " 


COUSIN  EPHRAIM'S  COMRADE  279 

"  Er  —  I  said,  '  Mr.  President,  I  thought  I  was  until 
a  while  ago.' 

"  '  And  when  did  you  change  your  mind  ?  '  says  he. 

"  Then  he  laughed  a  little  —  not  much  —  but  he  laughed 
a  little. 

" '  I  understand  that  your  old  soldier  lives  within  the 
limits  of  the  delivery  of  the  Brampton  office,'  said  he. 

"  '  That's  correct,  Mr.  President,'  said  I. 

" '  Well,'  said  he,  '  I  will  app'int  him  postmaster  at 
Brampton,  Mr.  Bass.'  , 

"  '  When  ? '  said  I. 

"  Then  he  laughed  a  little  more. 

"  '  I'll  have  the  app'intment  sent  to  your  hotel  this  after 
noon,'  said  he. 

"  'Then  I  said  to  him:  'This  has  come  out  full  better 
than  I  expected,  Mr.  President.  I'm  much  obliged  to 
you.'  He  didn't  say  nothin'  more,  so  I  come  out." 

"  Grant  didn't  say  anything  about  Worthington  or 
Duncan,  did  he  ?  "  asked  the  senator,  curiously,  as  he  rose 
to  go. 

"  G-guess  I've  told  you  all  he  said,"  answered  Jethro  ; 
"  'twahn't  a  great  deal." 

The  senator  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Bass,"  he  said,  laughing,  "  I  believe  you  came  pretty 
near  meeting  your  match.  But  if  Grant's  the  hardest  man 
in  the  Union  to  get  anything  out  of,  I've  a  notion  who's 
the  second."  And  with  this  parting  shot  the  senator  took 
his  departure,  chuckling  to  himself  as  he  went. 

As  has  been  said,  there  were  but  few  visitors  in  Wash 
ington  at  this  time,  and  the  hotel  corridor  was  all  but 
empty.  Presently  a  substantial-looking  gentleman  came 
briskly  in  from  the  street,  nodding  affably  to  the  colored 
porters  and  bell-boys,  who  greeted  him  by  name.  He 
wore  a  flowing  Prince  Albert  coat,  which  served  to  dignify 
a  growing  portliness,  and  his  coal-black  whiskers  glistened 
in  the  light.  A  voice,  which  appeared  to  come  from  no 
where  in  particular,  brought  the  gentleman  up  standing. 

"  How  be  you,  Heth  ?  "' 

It  may  not  be  that  Mr.  Sutton's  hand  trembled,  but  the 


280  OGHIfiTON 

ashes  of  his  cigar  fell  to  the  floor.  He  was  not  used  to 
visitations,  and  for  the  instant,  if  the  truth  be  told,  he 
was  not  equal  to  looking  around. 

"  Like  Washington,  Heth  —  like  Washington  ?  " 

Then  Mr.  Sutton  turned.  His  presence  of  mind,  and 
that  other  presence  of  which  he  was  so  proud,  seemed  for 
the  moment  to  have  deserted  him. 

"  S-stick  pretty  close  to  business,  Heth,  comin'  down 
here  out  of  session  time.  S-stick  pretty  close  to  business, 
don't  you,  since  the  people  sent  you  to  Congress  ?  " 

Mr.  Sutton  might  have  offered  another  man  a  cigar  or 
a  drink,  but  (as  is  well  known)  Jethro  was  proof  against 
tobacco  or  stimulants. 

"Well,"  said  the  Honorable  Heth,  catching  his  breath 
and  making  a  dive,  "  I  am  surprised  to  see  you,  Jethro," 
which  was  probably  true. 

"Th-thought  you  might  be,"  said  Jethro.  "Er — glad 
to  see  me,  Heth  —  glad  to  see  me  ?" 

As  has  been  recorded,  it  is  peculiarly  difficult  to  lie  to 
people  who  are  not  to  be  deceived. 

u  Why,  certainly  I  am,"  answered  the  Honorable  Heth, 
swallowing  hard,  "  certainly  I  am,  Jethro.  I  meant  to  have 
got  to  Coniston  this  summer,  but  I  was  so  busy — " 

"Peoples'  business,  I  understand.  Er  —  hear  you've 
gone  in  for  high-minded  politics,  Heth  —  r-read  a  high- 
minded  speech  of  yours  —  two  high-minded  speeches. 
Always  thought  you  was  a  high-minded  man,  Heth." 

"  How  did  you  like  those  speeches,  Jethro  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Sutton,  striving  as  best  he  might  to  make  some  shov/  of 
dignity. 

"  Th-thought  they  was  high-minded,"  said  Jethro. 

Then  there  was  a  silence,  for  Mr.  Sutton  could  think 
of  nothing  more  to  say.  And  he  yearned  to  depart  with 
a  great  yearning,  but  something  held  him  there. 

"  Heth,"  said  Jethro,  after  a  while,  "  you  was  always 
very  friendly  arid  obliging.  You've  done  a  great  many 
favors  for  me  in  your  life." 

"  I've  always  tried  to  be  neighborly,  Jethro,"  said  Mr, 
Sutton,  but  his  voice  sounded  a  little  husky  even  to  himself. 


COUSIN  EPHRAIM'S  COMEADE  281 

"  And  I  may  have  done  one  or  two  little  things  for  you, 
Heth,"  Jethro  continued,  "but  I  can't  remember  exactly. 
Er  —  can  you  remember,  Heth." 

Mr.  Sutton  was  trying  with  becoming  nonchalance  to 
light  the  stump  of  his  cigar.  He  did  not  succeed  this 
time.  He  pulled  himself  together  with  a  supreme  effort. 

"  I  think  we've  both  been  mutually  helpful,  Jethro,"  he 
said,  "mutually  helpful." 

"  Well,"  said  Jethro,  reflectively,  "  I  don't  know  as  I 
could  have  put  it  as  well  as  that  —  there's  somethin'  in 
being  an  orator." 

There  was  another  silence,  a  much  longer  one.  The 
Honorable  Heth  threw  his  butt  away,  and  lighted  another 
cigar.  Suddenly,  as  if  by  magic,  his  aplomb  returned, 
and  in  a  flash  of  understanding  he  perceived  the  situation. 
He  saw  himself  once  more  as  the  successful  congressman, 
the  trusted  friend  of  the  railroad  interests,  and  lie  saw 
Jethro  as  a  discredited  boss.  He  did  not  stop  to  reflect 
that  Jethro  did  not  act  like  a  discredited  boss,  as  a  keener 
man  might  have  done.  But  if  the  Honorable  Heth  had 
been  a  keener  man,  he  would  not  have  been  at  that  time 
a  congressman.  Mr.  Sutton  accused  himself  of  having 
been  stupid  in  not  grasping  at  once  that  the  tables  were 
turned,  and  that  now  he  was  the  one  to  dispense  the  gifts. 

"  K-kind  of  fortunate  you  stopped  to  speak  to  me, 
Heth.  N-now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  hev  a  little  favor  to 
ask  of  you." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Sutton,  blowing  out  the  smoks  ; 
"  of  course  anything  I  can  do,  Jethro  —  anything  ii» 
reason." 

"  W-wouldn't  ask  a  high-minded  man  to  do  anything 
he  hadn't  ought  to,"  said  Jethro  ;  "the  fact  is,  I'd  like  to 
git  Eph  Prescott  appointed  at  the  Brampton  post-office. 
You  can  fix  that,  Heth  —  can't  you  —  you  can  fix  that?" 

Mr.  Sutton  stuck  his  thumb  into  his  vest  pocket  and 
cleared  his  throat. 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  not  to  oblige  you, 
Jethro,  but  I've  arranged  to  give  that  post-office  to  Dave 
Wheelock." 


282  CONISTON 

"A-arranged  it,  hev  you  —  a-arranged  it  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Sutton,  scarcely  believing  his 
own  ears.  Could  it  be  possible  that  he  was  using  this 
patronizingly  kind  tone  to  Jethro  Bass  ? 

"  Well,  that's  too  bad,"  said  Jethro;  "g-got  it  all  fixed, 
hev  you  ?  " 

"Practically,"  answered  Mr.  Sutton,  grandly;  "indeed, 
I  may  go  as  far  as  to  say  that  it  is  as  certain  as  if  I  had 
the  appointment  here  in  my  pocket.  I'm  sorry  not  to 
oblige  you,  Jethro  ;  but  these  are  matters  which  a  member 
of  Congress  must  look  after  pretty  closely."  He  held  out 
his  hand,  but  Jethro  did  not  appear  to  see  it,  —  he  had  his 
in  his  pockets.  "I've  an  important  engagement,"  said 
the  Honorable  Heth,  consulting  a  large  gold  watch.  "Are 
you  going  to  be  in  Washington  long  ?  " 

"  G-guess  I've  about  got  through,  Heth  —  g-guess  I've 
about  got  through,"  said  Jethro. 

"  Well,  if  you  have  time,  and  there's  any  other  little 
thing,  I'm  in  Room  29,"  said  Mr.  Sutton,  as  he  put  his 
foot  on  the  stairway. 

"T-told  Worthington  you  got  that  app'intment  for 
Wheelock  —  t-told  Worthington?"  Jethro  called  out 
after  him. 

Mr.  Sutton  turned  and  waved  his  cigar  and  smiled  in 
acknowledgment  of  this  parting  bit  of  satire.  He  felt 
that  he  could  afford  to  smile.  A  few  minutes  later  he 
was  ensconced  on  the  sofa  of  a  private  sitting  room 
reviewing  the  incident,  with  much  gusto,  for  the  benefit 
of  Mr.  Isaac  D.  Worthington  and  Mr.  Alexander  Duncan. 
Both  of  these  gentlemen  laughed  heartily,  for  the  Honor 
able  Heth  Sutton  knew  the  art  of  telling  a  story  well,  at 
least,  and  was  often  to  be  seen  with  a  group  around  him 
in  the  lobbies  of  Congress. 


CHAPTER   VI 

MB.    SUTTON   TALKS   TO   A   CONSTITUENT 

ABOUT  five  o'clock  that  afternoon  Ephraim  was  sitting 
in  his  shirt-sleeves  by  the  window  of  his  room,  and  Cynthia 
was  reading  aloud  to  him  an  article  (about  the  war,  of 
course)  from  a  Washington  paper,  which  his  friend,  Mr. 
Beard,  had  sent  him.  There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
Cynthia  opened  it  to  discover  a  colored  hall-boy  with  a 
roll  in  his  hand. 

"  Mistah  Ephum  Prescott  ?  "  he  said. 

"Yes,"  answered  Ephraim,  "that's  me." 

Cynthia  shut  the  door  and  gave  him  the  roll,  but  Ephraim 
took  it  as  though  he  were  afraid  of  its  contents. 

"  Guess  it's  some  of  them  war  records  from  Amasy,"  he 
said. 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Eph,"  exclaimed  Cynthia,  excitedly,  "  why 
don't  you  open  it  ?  If  you  don't,  I  will." 

"  Guess  you'd  better,  Cynthy,"  and  he  held  it  out  to 
her  with  a  trembling  hand. 

Cynthia  did  open  it,  and  drew  out  a  large  document 
with  seals  and  printing  and  signatures. 

"  Cousin  Eph,"  she  cried,  holding  it  under  his  nose, 
"  Cousin  Eph,  you're  postmaster  of  Brampton !  " 

Ephraim  looked  at  the  paper,  but  his  eyes  swam,  and  he 
could  only  make  out  a  dancing,  bronze  seal. 

"  I  want  to  know  !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  Fetch  Jethro." 

But  Cynthia  had  already  flown  on  that  errand.  Curi 
ously  enough,  she  ran  into  Jethro  in  the  hall  immediately 
outside  of  Ephraim's  door.  Ephraim  got  to  his  feet;  it 
was  very  difficult  for  him  to  realize  that  his  troubles  were 
ended,  that  he  was  to  earn  his  living  at  last.  He  looked 
at  Jethro,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

283 


284  CCXNTSTON 

"  I  guess  I  can't  thank  you  as  I'd  ought  to,  Jethro,"  he 
said,  "  leastways,  not  now." 

"I'll  thank  him  for  you,  Cousin  Eph,"  said  Cynthia. 
And  she  did. 

"  D-don't  thank  me,"  said  Jethro,  "  I  didn't  have  much 
to  do  with  it,  Eph.  Thank  the  President." 

Ephraim  did  thank  the  President,  in  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  letters,  from  a  literary  point  of  view,  ever 
received  at  the  White  House.  For  the  art  of  literature 
largely  consists  in  belief  in  what  one  is  writing,  and 
Ephraim's  letter  had  this  quality  of  sincerity,  and  no  lack 
of  vividness  as  well.  He  spent  most  of  the  evening  in 
composing  it. 

Cynthia,  too,  had  received  a  letter  that  day  —  a  letter 
which  she  had  read  several  times,  now  with  a  smile,  and 
again  with  a  pucker  of  the  forehead  which  was  meant  for 
a  frown.  "  Dear  Cynthia,"  it  said.  "  Where  do  you  keep 
yourself?  I  am  sure  you  would  not  be  so  cruel  if  you 
knew  that  I  was  aching  to  see  you."  Aching  !  Cynthia 
repeated  the  word,  and  remembered  the  glimpse  she  had 
had  of  him  in  the  dining  room  with  Miss  Janet  Duncan. 
*' Whenever  I  have  been  free"  (Cynthia  repeated  this 
also,  somewhat  ironically,  although  she  conceded  it  the 
merit  of  frankness),  "  Whenever  I  have  been  free,  I  have 
haunted  the  corridors  for  a  sight  of  you.  Think  of  me 
as  haunting  the  hotel  desk  for  an  answer  to  this,  telling 
me  when  I  can  see  you  —  and  where.  P.S.  I  shall  be 
around  all  evening."  And  it  was  signed,  "Your  friend 
and  playmate,  R.  Worthington." 

It  is  a  fact  —  not  generally  known  —  that  Cynthia  did 
answer  the  letter  —  twice.  But  she  sent  neither  answer. 
Even  at  that  age  she  was  given  to  reflection,  and  much 
as  she  may  have  approved  of  the  spirit  of  the  letter,  she 
liked  the  tone  of  it  less.  Cynthia  did  not  know  a  great 
deal  of  the  world,  it  is  true,  but  she  felt  instinctively  that 
something  was  wrong  when  Bob  resorted  to  such  means 
of  communication.  And  she  was  positively  relieved,  or 
thought  that  she  was,  when  she  went  down  to  supper  and 
discovered  that  the  table  in  the  corner  was  empty. 


ME.  SUTTON  TALKS  TO  A  CONSTITUENT  285 

After  supper  Ephraim  had  his  letter  to  write,  and 
Jethro  wished  to  sit  in  the  corridor.  But  Cynthia  had 
learned  that  the  corridor  was  not  the  place  for  a  girl,  so 
she  explained  to  Jethro  that  he  would  find  her  in  the 
parlor  if  he  wanted  her,  and  that  she  was  going  there  to 
read.  That  parlor  Cynthia  thought  a  handsome  room, 
with  its  high  windows  and  lace  curtains,  its  long  mirrors 
and  marble-topped  tables.  She  established  herself  under 
a  light,  on  a  sofa  in  one  corner,  and  sat,  with  the  book  on 
her  lap,  watching  the  people  who  came  and  went.  She 
had  that  delicious  sensation  which  comes  to  the  young  when 
they  first  travel — the  sensation  of  being  a  part  of  the 
great  world ;  and  she  wished  that  she  knew  these  people, 
and  which  were  the  great,  and  which  the  little  ones. 
Some  of  them  looked  at  her  intently,  she  thought  too 
intently,  and  at  such  times  she  pretended  to  read.  She 
was  aroused  by  hearing  some  one  saying:  — 

"  Isn't  this  Miss  Wetherell?  " 

Cynthia  looked  up  and  caught  her  breath,  for  the 
young  lady  who  had  spoken  was  none  other  than  Miss 
Janet  Duncan  herself.  Seen  thus  startlingly  at  close 
range,  Miss  Duncan  was  not  at  all  like  what  Cynthia  had 
expected  —  but  then  most  people  are  not.  Janet  Duncan 
was,  in  fact,  one  of  those  strange  persons  who  do  not 
realize  the  picture  which  their  names  summon  up.  She 
was  undoubtedly  good-looking;  her  hair,  of  a  more 
golden  red  than  her  brother's,  was  really  wonderful ;  her 
neck  was  slender ;  and  she  had  a  strange,  dreamy  face  that 
fascinated  Cynthia,  who  had  never  seen  anything  like  it. 

She  put  down  her  book  on  the  sofa  and  got  up,  not 
without  a  little  tremor  at  this  unexpected  encounter. 

"  Yes,  I'm  Cynthia  Wetherell,"  she  replied. 

To  add  to  her  embarrassment,  Miss  Duncan  seized  both 
her  hands  impulsively  and  gazed  into  her  face. 

"  You're  really  very  beautiful,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  know 
it?" 

Cynthia's  only  answer  to  this  was  a  blush.  She  won 
dered  if  all  city  girls  were  like  Miss  Duncan. 

"  I  was  determined  to  come  up  and  speak  to  you  the 


" '  I've  been  making  up  stories  about  you.'  " 


ME.  SUTTON  TALKS  TO  A  CONSTITUENT  287 

first  chance  I  had,"  Janet  continued.  "  I've  been  making 
up  stories  about  you." 

"  Stories ! "  exclaimed  Cynthia,  drawing  away  her 
hands. 

"  Romances,"  said  Miss  Duncan  — "  real  romances. 
Sometimes  I  think  I'm  going  to  be  a  novelist,  because 
I'm  always  weaving  stories  about  people  that  I  see  — 
people  who  interest  me,  I  mean.  And  you  look  as  if  you 
might  be  the  heroine  of  a  wonderful  romance." 

Cynthia's  breath  was  now  quite  taken  away. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  I  had  never  thought  that  I  looked  like 
that." 

"  But  you  do,"  said  Miss  Duncan  ;  "  you've  got  all  sorts 
of  possibilities  in  your  face  —  you  look  as  if  you  might 
have  lived  for  ages." 

"  As  old  as  that  ?  "  exclaimed  Cynthia,  really  startled. 

"  Perhaps  I  don't  express  myself  very  well,"  said  the 
other,  hastily  ;  "  I  wish  you  could  see  what  I've  written 
about  you  already.  I  can  do  it  so  much  better  with  pen 
and  ink.  I've  started  quite  a  romance  already." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Cynthia,  not  without  interest. 

"  Sit  down  on  the  sofa  and  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Miss 
Duncan ;  "  I've  done  it  all  from  your  face,  too.  I've  made 
you  a  very  poor  girl  brought  up  by  peasants,  only  you  are 
really  of  a  great  family,  although  nobody  knows  it.  A  rich 
duke  sees  you  one  day  when  he  is  hunting  and  falls 
in  love  with  you,  and  you  have  to  stand  a  lot  of  suffering 
and  persecution  because  of  it,  and  say  nothing.  I  believe 
you  could  do  that,"  added  Janet,  looking  critically  at 
Cynthia's  face. 

"  I  suppose  I  could  if  I  had  to,"  said  Cynthia,  "  but  I 
shouldn't  like  it." 

"  Oh,  it  would  do  you  good,"  said  Janet  ;  "  it  would 
ennoble  your  character.  Not  that  it  needs  it,"  she  added 
hastily.  "  And  I  could  write  another  story  about  that 
quaint  old  man  who  paid  the  musicians  to  go  away,  and 
who  made  us  all  laugh  so  much." 

Cynthia's  eye  kindled. 

"  Mr.  Bass  isn't  a  quaint  old  man,"  she  said ;  "  he's  the 
greatest  man  in  the  state." 


288  CONISTON 

Miss  Duncan's  patronage  had  been  of  an  unconscious 
kind.  She  knew  that  she  had  offended,  but  did  not  quite 
realize  how. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,"  she  cried,  "  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you. 
You  live  with  him,  don't  you  —  Coniston  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Cynthia,  not  knowing  whether  to  laugh 
or  cry. 

"I've  heard  about  Coniston.  It  must  be  quite  a  ro 
mance  in  itself  to  live  all  the  year  round  in  such  a  beauti 
ful  place  and  to  make  your  own  clothes.  Yours  become 
you  very  well,"  said  Miss  Duncan,  "although  I  don't 
know  why.  They're  not  at  all  in  style,  and  yet  they 
give  you  quite  an  air  of  distinction.  I  wish  I  could  live 
in  Coniston  for  a  year,  anyway,  and  write  a  book  about 
you.  My  brother  and  Bob  Worthington  went  out  there 
one  night  and  serenaded  you,  didn't  they  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Cynthia,  that  peculiar  flash  coming  into 
her  eyes  again,  "and  I  think  it  was  very  foolish  of  them." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Miss  Duncan,  in  surprise;  "  I  wish 
somebody  would  serenade  me.  I  think  it  was  the  most 
romantic  thing  Bob  ever  did.  He's  wild  about  you,  and 
so  is  Somers —  they  have  both  told  me  so  in  confidence." 

Cynthia's  face  was  naturally  burning  now. 

"  If  it  were  true,"  she  said,  "  they  wouldn't  have  told 
you  about  it." 

"I  suppose  that's  so,"  said  Miss  Duncan,  thoughtfully, 
"only  you're  very  clever  to  have  seen  it.  Now  that  I 
know  you,  I  think  you  a  more  remarkable  person  than 
ever.  You  don't  seem  at  all  like  a  country  girl,  and  you 
don't  talk  like  one." 

Cynthia  laughed  outright.  She  could  not  help  liking 
Janet  Duncan,  mere  flesh  and  blood  not  being  proof 
against  such  compliments. 

"  I  suppose  it's  because  my  father  was  an  educated  man," 
she  said  ;  "  he  taught  me  to  read  and  speak  when  I  was 
young." 

"  Why,  you  are  just  like  a  person  out  of  a  novel  !  Who 
was  your  father  ?  " 

"  He  kept  the  store  at  Coniston,"  answered  Cynthia, 


ME.  BUTTON  TALKS  TO  A  CONSTITUENT  289 

smiling  a  little  sadly.  She  would  have  liked  to  add  that 
William  Wetherell  would  have  been  a  great  man  if  he 
had  had  health,  but  she  found  it  difficult  to  give  out 
confidences,  especially  when  they  were  in  the  nature  of 
surmises. 

"  Well,"  said  Janet,  stoutly,  "  I  think  that  is  more  like 
a  story  than  ever.  Do  you  know,"  she  continued,  "  I  saw 
you  once  at  the  state  capital  outside  of  our  grounds  the 
day  Bob  ran  after  you.  That  was  when  I  was  in  love 
with  him.  We  had  just  come  back  from  Europe  then,  and 
I  thought  he  was  the  most  wonderful  person  I  had  ever 
seen." 

If  Cynthia  had  felt  any  emotion  from  this  disclosure,  she 
did  not  betray  it.  Janet,  moreover,  was  not  looking  for  it. 

"  What  made  you  change  your  mind?  "  asked  Cynthia, 
biting  her  lip. 

"  Oh,  Bob  hasn't  the  temperament,"  said  Janet,  making 
use  of  a  word  that  she  had  just  discovered ;  "  he's  too  prac 
tical  —  he  never  does  or  says  the  things  you  want  him  to. 
He's  just  been  out  West  with  us  on  a  trip,  and  he  was 
always  looking  at  locomotives  and  brakes  and  grades  and 
bridges  and  all  such  tiresome  things.  I  should  like  to 
marry  a  poet,"  said  Miss  Duncan,  dreamily ;  "  I  know  they 
want  me  to  marry  Bob,  and  Mr.  Worthington  wants  it. 
I'm  sure  of  that.  But  he  wouldn't  at  all  suit  me." 

If  Cynthia  had  been  able  to  exercise  an  equal  freedom 
of  speech,  she  might  have  been  impelled  to  inquire  what 
young  Mr.  Worthingtou's  views  were  in  the  matter.  As 
it  was,  she  could  think  of  nothing  appropriate  to  say, 
and  just  then  four  people  entered  the  room  and  came 
towards  them.  Two  of  these  were  Janet's  mother  and 
father,  and  the  other  two  were  Mr.  Worthington,  the 
elder,  and  the  Honorable  Heth  Sutton.  Mrs.  Duncan, 
whom  Janet  did  not  at  all  resemble,  was  a  person  who 
naturally  commanded  attention.  She  had  strong  features, 
and  a  very  decided,  though  not  disagreeable,  manner. 

"  I  couldn't  imagine  what  had  become  of  you,  Janet,"  she 
said,  coming  forward  and  throwing  off  her  lace  shawl. 
"  Whom  have  you  found  —  a  school  friend  ?  " 


290  CONISTON 

"  No,  Mamma,"  said  Janet,  "  this  is  Cynthia  Wetherell." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  looking  very  hard  at  Cynthia 
in  a  near-sighted  way,  and  not  knowing  in  the  least  who 
she  was;  "  you  haven't  seen  Senator  and  Mrs.  Meade,  have 
you,  Janet  ?  They  were  to  be  here  at  eight  o'clock." 

"  No,"  said  Janet,  turning  again  to  Cynthia  and  scarcely 
hearing  the  question. 

"Janet  hasn't  seen  them,  Dudley,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan, 
going  up  to  Mr.  Worthington,  who  was  pulling  his  chop 
whiskers  by  the  door.  "  Janet  has  discovered  such  a 
beautiful  creature,"  she  went  on,  in  a  voice  which  she  did 
not  take  the  trouble  to  lower.  "  Do  look  at  her,  Alex 
ander.  And  you,  Mr.  Sutton  —  who  are  such  a  bureau 
of  useful  information,  do  tell  me  who  she  is.  Perhaps 
she  comes  from  your  part  of  the  country  —  her  name's 
Wetherell." 

"  Wetherell  ?  Why,  of  course  I  know  her,"  said  Mr. 
Sutton,  who  was  greatly  pleased  because  Mrs.  Duncan  had 
likened  him  to  an  almanac  :  greatly  pleased  this  evening 
in  every  respect,  and  even  the  diamond  in  his  bosom  seemed 
to  glow  with  a  brighter  fire.  He  could  afford  to  be  gener 
ous  to-night,  and  he  turned  to  Mr.  Worthington  and 
laughed  knowingly.  "  She's  the  ward  of  our  friend 
Jethro,"  he  explained. 

"  What  is  she  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Duncan,  who  knew 
and  cared  nothing  about  politics ;  "  a  country  girl,  I  sup 
pose." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Sutton,  "  a  country  girl  from  a  little 
village  not  far  from  Clovelly.  A  good  girl,  I  believe,  in 
spite  of  the  atmosphere  in  which  she  has  been  raised." 

"  It's  really  wonderful,  Mr.  Sutton,  how  you  seem  to 
know  every  one  in  your  district,  including  the  women  and 
children,"  said  the  lady;  "but  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  be 
where  you  are  if  you  didn't." 

The  Honorable  Heth  cleared  his  throat. 

"Wetherell,"  Mr.  Duncan  was  saying,  staring  at  Cyn 
thia  through  his  spectacles,  "where  have  I  heard  that 
name  ?  " 

He  must  suddenly  have  remembered,  and  recalled  also 


MR.  SUTTON  TALKS  TO  A  CONSTITUENT     291 

that  he  and  his  ally  Worthington  had  been  on  opposite 
sides  in  the  Woodchuck  Session,  for  he  sat  down  abruptly 
beside  the  door,  and  remained  there  for  a  while.  For  Mr. 
Duncan  had  never  believed  Mr.  Merrill's  explanation 
concerning  poor  William  WetherelF  s  conduct. 

"  Pretty,  ain't  she  ? "  said  Mr.  Sutton  to  Mr,  Worth 
ington.  "  Guess  she's  more  dangerous  than  Jethro,  now 
that  we've  clipped  his  wings  a  little."  The  congressman 
had  heard  of  Bob's  infatuation. 

Isaac  D.  Worthington,  however,  was  in  a  good  humor 
this  evening,  and  was  moved  by  a  certain  curiosity  to 
inspect  the  girl.  Though  what  he  had  seen  and  heard 
of  his  son's  conduct  with  her  had  annoyed  him,  he  did  not 
regard  it  seriously. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  speak  to  your  constituent,  Mr. 
Sutton  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  who  was  bored  because  her 
friends  had  not  arrived;  "a  congressman  ought  to  keep  on 
the  right  side  of  the  pretty  girls,  you  know." 

It  hadn't  occurred  to  the  Honorable  Heth  to  speak  to 
his  constituent.  The  ways  of  Mrs.  Duncan  sometimes 
puzzled  him,  and  he  could  not  see  why  that  lady  and  her 
daughter  seemed  to  take  more  than  a  passing  interest  in 
the  girl.  But  if  they  could  afford  to  notice  her,  certainly 
he  could,  so  he  went  forward  graciously  and  held  out  his 
hand  to  Cynthia,  interrupting  Miss  Duncan  in  the  middle 
of  a  discourse  upon  her  diary. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Cynthia  ?  'J  said  Mr.  Sutton.  Had 
he  been  in  Coniston,  he  would  have  said,  "  How  be  you  ?  " 

Cynthia  took  the  hand,  but  did  not  rise,  somewhat  to 
Mr.  Sutton's  annoyance.  A  certain  respect  was  due  to  a 
member  of  Congress  and  the  Rajah  of  Clovelly. 

"  How  do  you  do,Mr.  Sutton  ?  "  said  Cynthia,  very  coolly. 

"  I  like  her,"  remarked  Mrs.  Duncan  to  Mr.  Worth 
ington. 

"  This  is  a  splendid  trip  for  you,  eh,  Cynthia  ?  "  Mr. 
Sutton  persisted,  with  a  praiseworthy  determination  to  be 
pleasant. 

"  It  has  turned  out  to  be  so,  Mr.  Sutton,"  replied  Cyn 
thia.  This  was  not  precisely  the  answer  Mr.  Sutton 


292  CONISTON 

expected,  and  to  tell  the  truth,  he  didn't  know  quite  what 
to  make  of  it. 

"A  great  treat  to  see  Washington  and  New  York, 
isn't  it  ?  "  said  Mr.  Sutton,  kindly,  "  a  great  treat  for  a 
Coniston  girl.  I  suppose  you  came  through  New  York 
and  saw  the  sights  ?  " 

"  Is  there  another  way  to  get  to  Washington  ?  "  asked 
Cynthia. 

Mrs.  Duncan  nudged  Mr.  Worthington  and  drew  a 
little  nearer,  while  Mr.  Sutton  began  to  wish  he  had  not 
been  lured  into  the  conversation.  Cynthia  had  been  very 
polite,  but  there  was  something  in  the  quiet  manner  in 
which  the  girl's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  that  made  him 
vaguely  uneasy.  He  could  not  back  out  with  dignity,  and 
he  felt  himself  on  the  verge  of  becoming  voluble.  Mr. 
Sutton  prided  himself  on  never  being  voluble. 

"  Why,  no,"  he  answered,  "  we  have  to  go  to  New  York 
to  get  anywhere  in  these  days."  There  was  a  slight  pause. 
"  Uncle  Jethro  taking  you  and  Mr.  Prescott  on  a  little 
pleasure  trip  ?  "  He  had  not  meant  to  mention  Jethro's 
name,  but  he  found  himself,  to  his  surprise,  a  little  at  a  loss 
for  a  subject. 

"  Well,  partly  a  pleasure  trip.  It's  always  a  pleasure 
for  Uncle  Jethro  to  do  things  for  others,"  said  Cynthia, 
quietly,  "  although  people  do  not  always  appreciate  what 
he  does  for  them." 

The  Honorable  Heth  coughed.  He  was  now  very  un 
comfortable,  indeed.  How  much  did  this  astounding 
young  person  know,  whom  he  had  thought  so  innocent  ? 

"  I  didn't  discover  he  was  in  town  until  I  ran  across  him 
in  the  corridor  this  evening.  Should  have  liked  to  have 
introduced  him  to  some  of  the  Washington  folks — some 
of  the  big  men,  although  not  many  of  'em  are  here,"  Mr. 
Sutton  ran  on,  not  caring  to  notice  the  little  points  of 
light  in  Cynthia's  eyes.  (The  idea  of  Mr.  Sutton  intro 
ducing  Uncle  Jethro  to  anybody  !)  "  I  haven't  seen 
Ephraim  Prescott.  It  must  be  a  great  treat  for  him,  too, 
to  get  away  on  a  little  trip  and  see  his  army  friends.  How 
is  he  ?  " 


MR.  SUTTON  TALKS  TO  A  CONSTITUENT  293 

"  He's  very  happy,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  Happy  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Sutton.  "  Oh,  yes,  of  course, 
Ephraim's  always  happy,  in  spite  of  his  troubles  and  his 
rheumatism.  I  always  liked  Ephraim  Prescott." 

Cynthia  did  not  answer  this  remark  at  all,  and  Mr. 
Sutton  suspected  strongly  that  she  did  not  believe  it, 
therefore  he  repeated  it. 

"  I  always  liked  Ephraim.  I  want  you  to  tell  Jethro 
that  I'm  downright  sorry  I  couldn't  get  him  that  Brampton 
postmastership. " 

"  I'll  tell  him  that  you  are  sorry,  Mr.  Sutton,"  replied 
Cynthia,  gravely,  "but  I  don't  think  it'll  do  any  good." 

Not  do  any  good  1  What  did  the  girl  mean  ?  Mr. 
Sutton  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  been  condescend 
ing  enough,  that  somehow  he  was  gaining  no  merit  in 
Mrs.  Duncan's  eyes  by  this  kindness  to  a  constituent.  He 
buttoned  up  his  coat  rather  grandly. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  misunderstand  me,  Cynthia,"  he  said. 
"  I  regret  extremely  that  my  sense  of  justice  demanded 
that  I  should  make  David  Wheelock  postmaster  at  Bramp 
ton,  and  I  have  made  him  so." 

It  was  now  Cynthia's  turn  to  be  amazed. 

"  But,"  she  exclaimed,  "  but  Cousin  Ephraim  is  post 
master  of  Brampton." 

Mr.  Sutton  started  violently,  and  that  part  of  his  face 
not  hidden  by  his  whiskers  seemed  to  pale,  and  Mr. 
Worthington,  usually  self-possessed,  took  a  step  forward 
and  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Sutton  ?  "  he  said. 

Mr.  Sutton  pulled  himself  together,  and  glared  at 
Cynthia. 

"  I  think  you  are  mistaken,"  said  he,  "  the  congressman 
of  the  district  usually  arranges  these  matters,  and  the 
appointment  will  be  sent  to  Mr.  Wheelock  to-morrow." 

"But  Cousin  Ephraim  already  has  the  appointment," 
said  Cynthia;  "  it  was  sent  to  him  this  afternoon,  and  he  is 
up  in  his  room  now  writing  to  thank  the  President  for  it." 

"  What  in  the  world's  the  matter  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Duncan, 
in  astonishment. 


294  CONiSTON 

Cynthia's  simple  announcement  had  indeed  caused  some 
thing  of  a  panic  among  the  gentlemen  present.  Mr. 
Duncan  had  jumped  up  from  his  seat  beside  the  door, 
and  Mr.  Worthington,  his  face  anything  but  impassive, 
tightened  his  hold  on  the  congressman's  arm. 

"  Good  God,  Sutton  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  can  this  be  true  ?" 

As  for  Cynthia,  she  was  no  less  astonished  than  Mrs. 
Duncan  by  the  fact  that  these  rich  and  powerful  gentle 
men  were  so  excited  over  a  little  thing  like  the  postmaster- 
ship  of  Brampton.  But  Mr.  Sutton  laughed  ;  it  was  not 
hearty,  but  still  it  might  have  passed  muster  for  a  laugh. 

"  Nonsense,"  he  exclaimed,  making  a  fair  attempt  to 
regain  his  composure,  "  the  girl's  got  it  mixed  up  with 
something  else  —  she  doesn't  know  what  she's  talking 
about." 

Mrs.  Duncan  thought  the  girl  did  look  uncommonly  as 
if  she  knew  what  she  was  talking  about,  and  Mr.  Duncan 
and  Mr.  Worthington  had  some  such  impression,  too,  as 
they  stared  at  her.  Cynthia's  eyes  flashed,  but  her  voice 
was  no  louder  than  before. 

"I  am  used  to  being  believed,  Mr.  Sutton,"  she  said, 
"but  here's  Uncle  Jethro  himself.  You  might  ask  him." 

They  all  turned  in  amazement,  and  one,  at  least,  in 
trepidation,  to  perceive  Jethro  Bass  standing  behind  them 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  as  unconcerned  as  though 
he  were  under  the  butternut  tree  in  Coniston. 

"  How  be  you,  Heth  ?  "  he  said.  "  Er —  still  got  that 
appointment  p-practically  in  your  pocket  ?  " 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  said  Cynthia,  "  Mr.  Sutton  does  not 
believe  me  when  I  tell  him  that  Cousin  Ephraim  has  been 
made  postmaster  of  Brampton.  He  would  like  to  have 
you  tell  him  whether  it  is  so  or  not." 

But  this,  as  it  happened,  was  exactly  what  the  Honor 
able  Heth  did  not  want  to  have  Jethro  tell  him.  How  he 
got  out  of  the  parlor  of  the  Willard  House  he  has  not  to 
this  day  a  very  clear  idea.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  fol 
lowed  Mr.  Worthington  and  Mr.  Duncan,  and  they  made 
their  exit  by  the  farther  door.  Jethro  did  not  appear  to 
take  any  notice  of  their  departure. 


ME.  SUTTON  TALKS  TO  A  CONSTITUENT     295 

"  Janet,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  "  I  think  Senator  and  Mrs. 
Meade  must  have  gone  to  our  sitting  room."  Then,  to 
Cynthia's  surprise,  the  lady  took  her  by  the  hand.  "1 
can't  imagine  what  you've  done,  my  dear,"  she  said 
pleasantly,  "  but  I  believe  that  you  are  capable  of  taking 
care  of  yourself,  and  I  like  you." 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  Mrs.  Duncan  was  an  indepen 
dent  person.  Sometimes  heiresses  are  apt  to  be. 

"  And  I  like  you,  too,"  said  Janet,  taking  both  of 
Cynthia's  hands,  "  and  I  hope  to  see  you  very,  very  olten." 

Jethro  looked  after  them. 

"  Er  —  the  women  folks  seem  to  have  some  sense,"  he 
said.  Then  he  turned  to  Cynthia.  "B-be'n  havin' 
some  fun  with  Heth,  Cynthy  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  haven't  any  respect  for  Mr.  Sutton,"  said  Cynthia, 
indignantly  ;  "  it  serves  him  right  for  presuming  to  think 
that  he  could  give  a  post-office  to  any  one." 

Jethro  made  no  remark  concerning  this  presumption  on 
the  part  of  the  congressman  of  the  district.  Cynthia's 
indignation  against  Mr.  Sutton  was  very  real,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  she  could  compose  herself  sufficiently 
to  tell  Jethro  what  had  happened.  His  enjoyment  as  he 
listened  may  be  imagined  ;  but  presently  he  forgot  this, 
and  became  aware  that  something  really  troubled  her. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  asked  suddenly,  "  why  do  they 
treat  me  as  they  do  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  at  once.  This  was  because  of  a  pain 
around  his  heart  —  had  she  known  it.  He  had  felt  that 
pain  before. 

"  H-how  do  they  treat  you,  Cynthy  ?  " 

She  hesitated.  She  had  not  yet  learned  to  use  the 
word  patronize  in  the  social  sense,  and  she  was  at  a  loss  to 
describe  the  attitude  of  Mrs.  Duncan  and  her  daughter, 
though  her  instinct  had  registered  it.  She  was  at  a  loss 
to  account  for  Mr.  Worthington's  attitude,  too.  Mr. 
Sutton's  she  bitterly  resented. 

"  Are  they  your  enemies  ?  "  she  demanded. 

Jethro  was  in  real  distress. 

"  If  they  are,"  she  continued,  "  I  won't  speak  to  them 


296  CONISTON 

again.  If  they  can't  treat  me  as  —  as  your  daughter 
ought  to  be  treated,  I'll  turn  my  back  on  them.  I  am  — 
I  am  just  like  your  daughter  —  am  I  not,  Uncle  Jethro?  " 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  seized  hers  roughly,  and  his 
voice  was  thick  with  suffering. 

"Yes,  Cynthy,"  he  said,  "you  —  you're  all  I've  got  in 
the  world." 

She  squeezed  his  hand  in  return. 

"  I  know  it,  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  cried  contritely,  "  1 
oughtn't  to  have  troubled  you  by  asking.  You  —  you 
have  done  everything  for  me,  much  more  than  I  deserve. 
And  I  shan't  be  hurt  after  this  when  people  are  too  small 
to  appreciate  how  good  you  are,  and  how  great." 

The  pain  tightened  about  Jethro's  heart  —  tightened 
so  sharply  that  he  could  not  speak,  and  scarcely  breathe 
because  of  it.  Cynthia  picked  up  her  novel,  and  set  the 
bookmark. 

"  Now  that  Cousin  Eph  is  provided  for,  let's  go  back 
to  Coniston,  Uncle  Jethro."  A  sudden  longing  was  upon 
her  for  the  peaceful  life  in  the  shelter  of  the  great  ridge, 
and  she  thought  of  the  village  maples  all  reel  and  gold 
with  the  magic  touch  of  the  frosts.  "  Not  that  I  haven't 
enjoyed  my  trip,"  she  added ;  "  but  we  are  so  happy 
there." 

He  did  not  look  at  her,  because  he  was  afraid  to. 

"  C-Cynthy,"  he  said,  after  a  little  pause,  "  th-thought 
we'd  go  to  Boston." 

"  Boston,  Uncle  Jethro  !  " 

"  Er  —  to-morrow  —  at  one  —  to-morrow  —  like  to  go  to 
Boston  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "  I  remember  parts  of 
it.  The  Common,  where  I  used  to  walk  with  Daddy,  and 
the  funny  old  streets  that  went  uphill.  It  will  be  nice  to 
go  back  to  Coniston  that  way  —  over  Truro  Pass  in  the 
train." 

That  night  a  piece  of  news  flashed  over  the  wires  to 
New  England,  and  the  next  morning  a  small  item 
appeared  in  the  Newcastle  G-uardian  to  the  effect  that 
one  Ephraim  Prescott  had  been  appointed  postmaster  at 


MR  SUTTON  TALKS  TO  A  CONSTITUENT     297 

Brampton.  Copied  in  the  local  papers  of  the  state,  it 
caused  some  surprise  in  Brampton,  to  be  sure,  and  excite 
ment  in  Coniston.  Perhaps  there  were  but  a  dozen  men, 
however,  who  saw  its  real  significance,  who  knew 
through  this  item  that  Jethro  Bass  was  still  supreme 
—  that  the  railroads  had  failed  to  carry  this  first  position 
in  their  war  against  him. 

It  was  with  a  light  heart  the  next  morning  that  Cyn 
thia  packed  the  little  leather  trunk  which  had  been 
her  father's.  Ephraim  was  in  the  corridor  regaling  his 
friend,  Mr.  Beard,  with  that  wonderful  encounter  with 
General  Grant  which  sounded  so  much  like  a  Fifth  Reader 
anecdote  of  a  chance  meeting  with  royalty.  Jethro's 
room  was  full  of  visiting  politicians.  So  Cynthia,  when 
she  had  finished  her  packing,  went  out  to  walk  about  the 
streets  alone,  scanning  the  people  who  passed  her,  look 
ing  at  the  big  houses,  and  wondering  who  lived  in  them. 
Presently  she  found  herself,  in  the  middle  of  the  morn 
ing,  seated  on  a  bench  in  a  little  park,  surrounded  by 
colored  mammies  and  children  playing  in  the  paths.  It 
seemed  a  long  time  since  she  had  left  the  hills,  and  this 
glimpse  of  cities  had  given  her  many  things  to  think  and 
dream  about.  Would  she  always  live  in  Coniston?  Or 
was  her  future  to  be  cast  among  those  who  moved  in  the 
world  and  helped  to  sway  it  ?  Cynthia  felt  that  she  was 
to  be  of  these,  though  she  could  not  reason  why,  and  she 
told  herself  that  the  feeling  was  foolish.  Perhaps  it  was 
that  she  knew  in  the  bottom  of  her  heart  that  she  had  been 
given  a  spirit  and  intelligence  to  cope  with  a  larger  life 
than  that  of  Coniston.  With  a  sense  that  such  imaginings 
were  vain,  she  tried  to  think  what  she  would  do  if  she 
were  to  become  a  great  lady  like  Mrs.  Duncan. 

She  was  aroused  from  these  reflections  by  a  distant 
glimpse,  through  the  trees,  of  Mr.  Robert  Worthington. 
He  was  standing  quite  alone  on  the  edge  of  the  park,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  staring  at  the  White  House.  Cynthia 
half  rose,  and  then  sat  down  and  looked  at  him  again.  He 
wore  a  light  gray,  loose-fitting  suit  and  a  straw  hat,  and 
she  could  not  but  acknowledge  that  there  was  something 


298  CONISTON 

stalwart  and  clean  and  altogether  appealing  in  him.  She 
wondered,  indeed,  why  he  now  failed  to  appeal  to  Miss 
Duncan,  and  she  began  to  doubt  the  sincerity  of  that 
young  lady's  statements.  Bob  certainly  was  not  romantic, 
but  he  was  a  man  —  or  would  be  very  soon. 

Cynthia  sat  still,  although  her  impulse  was  to  go  away. 
She  scarcely  analyzed  her  feelings  of  wishing  to  avoid 
him.  It  may  not  be  well,  indeed,  to  analyze  them  on  paper 
too  closely.  She  had  an  instinct  that  only  pain  could 
come  from  frequent  meetings,  and  she  knew  now  what  but 
a  week  ago  was  a  surmise,  that  he  belonged  to  the  world 
of  which  she  had  been  dreaming  —  Mrs.  Duncan's  world. 
Again,  there  was  that  mysterious  barrier  between  them 
of  which  she  had  seen  so  many  evidences.  And  yet  she 
sat  still  on  her  bench  and  looked  at  him. 

Presently  he  turned,  slowly,  as  if  her  eyes  had  compelled 
his.  She  sat  still  —  it  was  too  late,  then.  In  less  than  a 
minute  he  was  standing  beside  her,  looking  down  at  her 
with  a  smile  that  had  in  it  a  touch  of  reproach. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Worthington  ? "  said  Cynthia, 
quietly. 

"  Mr.  Worthington!  "  he  cried,  "  you  haven't  called  me 
that  before." 

"  We  are  not  children  any  more,"  she  said. 

"  What  difference  does  that  make  ?  " 

"  A  great  deal,"  said  Cynthia,  not  caring  to  define  it. 

"  Cynthia,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  sitting  down  on  the 
bench  and  facing  her,  "  do  you  think  you've  treated  me 
just  right  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  she  said,  "  or  I  should  have  treated 
you  differently." 

Bob  ignored  such  quibbling. 

"  Why  did  you  run  away  from  that  baseball  game  in 
Brampton  ?  And  why  couldn't  you  have  answered  my 
letter  yesterday,  if  it  were  only  a  line  ?  And  why  have 
you  avoided  me  here  in  Washington  ?  " 

It  is  very  difficult  to  answer  for  another  questions  which 
one  cannot  answer  for  one's  self. 

"  I  haven't  avoided  you,"  said  Cynthia. 


MR.  SUTTON  TALKS  TO  A  CONSTITUENT     299 

'-*  I've  been  looking  for  you  all  over  town  this  morn 
ing,"  said  Bob,  with  pardonable  exaggeration,  "  and  I 
believe  that  idiot  Somers  has,  too." 

"  Then  why  should  you  call  him  an  idiot  ?  "  Cynthia 
flashed. 

Bob  laughed. 

"  How  you  do  catch  a  fellow  up  !  '*  said  he,  admiringly. 
"  We  both  found  out  you'd  gone  out  for  a  walk  alone." 

"  How  did  you  find  it  out?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Bob,  hesitating,  "  we  asked  the  colored 
doorkeeper." 

"  Mr.  Worthington,"  said  Cynthia,  with  an  indignation 
that  made  him  quail,  "  do  you  think  it  right  to  ask  a  door 
keeper  to  spy  on  my  movements  ?  " 

"  I'm  sorry,  Cynthia,"  he  gasped,  "I  —  I  didn't  think  of 
it  that  way  —  and  he  won't  tell.  Desperate  cases  require 
desperate  remedies,  you  know." 

But  Cynthia  was  not  appeased. 

"  If  you  wanted  to  see  me,"  she  said,  "  why  didn't  you 
send  your  card  to  my  room,  and  I  would  have  come  to  the 
parlor." 

"  But  I  did  send  a  note,  and  waited  around  all  day." 

How  was  she  to  tell  him  that  it  was  to  the  tone  of  the 
note  she  objected  —  to  the  hint  of  a  clandestine  meeting? 
She  turned  the  light  of  her  eyes  full  upon  him. 

"Would  you  have  been  content  to  see  me  in  the  parlor?  " 
she  asked.  "  Did  you  mean  to  see  me  there  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  he  ;  "I  would  have  given  my  head  to 
see  you  anywhere,  only  —  " 

"Only  what?" 

"  Duncan  might  have  come  in  and  spoiled  it." 

"Spoiled  what?" 

Bob  fidgeted. 

"  Look  here,  Cynthia,"  he  said,  "  you're  not  stupid  — 
far  from  it.  Of  course  you  know  a  fellow  would  rather 
talk  to  you  alone." 

"  I  should  have  been  very  glad  to  have  seen  Mr.  Dun 
can,  too." 

"  You  would,  would  you  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  shouldn't 
have  thought  that." 


300  CONISTON 

"  Isn't  he  your  friend  ?  "  asked  Cynthia. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Bob,  "and  one  of  the  best  in  the  world. 
Only  —  I  shouldn't  have  thought  you'd  care  to  talk  to  him." 
And  he  looked  around,  for  fear  the  vigilant  Mr.  Duncan 
was  already  in  the  park  and  had  discovered  them.  Cynthia 
smiled,  and  immediately  became  grave  again. 

"So  it  was  only  on  Mr.  Duncan's  account  that  you  didn't 
ask  me  to  come  down  to  the  parlor?"  she  said. 

Bob  was  in  a  quandary.  He  was  a  truthful  person,  and 
he  had  learned  something  of  the  world  through  his  three 
years  at  Cambridge.  He  had  seen  many  young  women, 
and  many  kinds  of  them.  But  the  girl  beside  him  was 
such  a  mixture  of  innocence  and  astuteness  that  he  was 
wholly  at  a  loss  how  to  deal  with  her  —  how  to  parry  her 
searching  questions. 

"Naturally  I  wanted  to  have  you  all  to  myself,"  he  said; 
"  you  ought  to  know  that." 

Cynthia  did  not  commit  herself  on  this  point.  She 
wished  to  go  mercilessly  to  the  root  of  the  matter,  but 
the  notion  of  what  this  would  imply  prevented  her.  Bob 
took  advantage  of  her  silence. 

"  Everybody  who  sees  you  falls  a  victim,  Cynthia,"  he 
went  on  ;  "  Mrs.  Duncan  and  Janet  lost  their  hearts.  You 
ought  to  have  heard  them  praising  you  at  breakfast."  He 
paused  abruptly,  thinking  of  the  rest  of  that  conversation, 
and  laughed.  Bob  seemed  fated  to  commit  himself  that 
day.  "  I  heard  the  way  you  handled  Heth  Sutton,"  he 
said,  plunging  in.  "  I'll  bet  he  felt  as  if  he'd  been  dropped 
out  of  the  third-story  window,"  and  Bob  laughed  again. 
"I'd  have  given  a  thousand  dollars  to  have  been  there. 
Somers  and  I  went  out  to  supper  with  a  classmate  who 
lives  in  Washington,  in  that  house  over  there,"  and  he 
pointed  casually  to  one  of  the  imposing  mansions  fronting 
on  the  park.  Mrs.  Duncan  said  she'd  never  heard  any 
body  lay  it  on  the  way  you  did.  I  don't  believe  you 
half  know  what  happened,  Cynthia.  You  made  a  ten- 
strike." 

"  A  ten-strike  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  you  not  only  laid  out  Heth,  but  my 


MR.  SUTTON  TALKS  TO  A  CONSTITUENT     301 

father  and  Mr.  Duncan,  too.  Mrs.  Duncan  laughed  at 
'em  —  she  isn't  afraid  of  anything.  But  they  didn't  say 
a  word  all  through  breakfast.  I've  never  seen  my  father 
so  mad.  He  ought  to  have  known  better  than  to  run  up 
against  Uncle  Jethro." 

"  How  did  they  run  up  against  Uncle  Jethro  ?  "  asked 
Cynthia,  now  keenly  interested. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  "  exclaimed  Bob,  in  astonishment. 

"  No,"  said  Cynthia,  "  or  I  shouldn't  have  asked." 

"  Didn't  Uncle  Jethro  tell  you  about  it?  " 

"  He  never  tells  me  anything  about  his  affairs,"  she 
answered. 

Bob's  astonishment  did  not  wear  off  at  once.  Here  was 
a  new  phase,  and  he  was  very  hard  put.  He  had  heard, 
casually,  a  good  deal  of  abuse  of  Jethro  and  his  methods 
in  the  last  two  days. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  anything  about  politics. 
I  don't  know  myself  why  father  and  Mr.  Duncan  were 
so  eager  for  this  postmastership.  But  they  were.  And 
I  heard  them  say  something  about  the  President  going 
back  on  them  when  they  had  telegraphed  from  Chicago 
and  come  to  see  him  here.  And  maybe  they  didn't  let 
Heth  in  for  it.  It  seems  Uncle  Jethro  only  had  to  walk 
up  to  the  White  House.  They  ought  to  have  sense  enough 
to  know  that  he  runs  the  state.  But  what's  the  use  of 
wasting  time  over  this  business  ?  "  said  Bob.  "  I  told 
you  I  was  going  to  Brampton  before  the  term  begins 
just  to  see  you,  didn't  I  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  didn't  believe  you,"  said  Cynthia. 

"Why  not?"  he  demanded. 

"  Because  it's  my  nature,  I  suppose,"  she  replied.  . 

This  was  too  much  for  Bob,  exasperated  though  he  was, 
and  he  burst  into  laughter. 

"  You're  the  queerest  girl  I've  ever  known,"  he  said. 
Not  a  very  original  remark. 

"  That  must  be  saying  a  great  deal,"  she  answered. 

"Why?" 

"You  must  have  known  many." 

"  I  have,"  he  admitted,    "  and  none  of  'em.  no  matter 


302  CONISTON 

how  much  they'd  knocked  about,  were  able  to  look  out  for 
themselves  any  better  than  you." 

"  Not  even  Cassandra  Hopkins  ?  "  Cynthia  could  not 
resist  saying.  She  saw  that  she  had  scored  ;  his  expres 
sions  registered  his  sensations  so  accurately. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  her  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh,"  said  Cynthia,  mysteriously,  "  I  heard  that  you 
were  very  fond  of  her  at  Andover." 

Bob  could  not  help  pluming  himself  a  little.  He 
thought  the  fact  that  she  had  mentioned  the  matter  a 
flaw  in  Cynthia's  armor,  as  indeed  it  was.  And  yet  he 
was  not  proud  of  the  Cassandra  Hopkins  episode  in  his 
career. 

"  Cassandra  is  one  of  the  institutions  at  Andover,"  said 
he  ;  "  most  fellows  have  to  take  a  course  in  Cassandra  to 
complete  their  education." 

"  Yours  seems  to  be  very  complete,"  Cynthia  retorted. 

"  Great  Scott  !  "  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  her,  "  no  won 
der  you  made  mince-meat  of  the  Honorable  Heth.  Where 
did  you  learn  it  all,  Cynthia  ?  " 

Cynthia  did  not  know.  She  merely  wondered  where  she 
would  be  if  she  hadn't  learned  it.  Something  told  her 
that  if  it  were  not  for  this  anchor  she  would  be  drifting 
out  to  sea  :  might,  indeed,  soon  be  drifting  out  to  sea  in 
spite  of  it.  It  was  one  thing  for  Mr.  Robert  Worthing- 
ton,  with  his  numerous  resources,  to  amuse  himself  with 
a  girl  in  her  position  ;  it  would  be  quite  another  thing 
for  the  girl.  She  got  to  her  feet  and  held  out  her  hand 
to  him. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said. 

"  Good-by  ?  " 

"  We  are  leaving  Washington  at  one  o'clock,  and  Uncle 
Jethro  will  be  worried  if  I  am  not  in  time  for  dinner." 

"  Leaving  at  one !  That's  the  worst  luck  I've  had  yet. 
But  I'm  going  back  to  the  hotel  myself." 

Cynthia  didn't  see  how  she  was  to  prevent  him  walking 
with  her.  She  would  not  have  admitted  to  herself  that 
she  had  enjoyed  this  encounter,  since  she  was  trying  so 
hard  not  to  enjoy  it.  So  they  started  together  out  of  the 


ME.  BUTTON  TALKS  TO  A  CONSTITUENT  303 

park.  Bob,  for  a  wonder,  was  silent  awhile,  glancing 
now  and  then  at  her  profile.  He  knew  that  he  had  a  great 
deal  to  say,  but  he  couldn't  decide  exactly  what  it  was  to 
be.  This  is  often  the  case  with  young  men  in  his  state  of 
mind:  in  fact,  to  be  paradoxical  again,  he  might  hardly 
be  said  at  this  time  to  have  had  a  state  of  mind.  He 
lacked  both  an  attitude  and  a  policy. 

"  If  you  see  Duncan  before  I  do,  let  me  know,"  he  re 
marked  finally. 

Cynthia  bit  her  lip.     "  Why  should  I  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because  we've  only  got  five  minutes  more  alone  to 
gether,  at  best.  If  we  see  him  in  time,  we  can  go  down 
a  side  street." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  hard  to  get  away  from  Mr.  Duncan 
if  we  met  him  — even  if  we  wanted  to,"  she  said,  laughing 
outright. 

"  You  don't  know  how  true  that  is,"  he  replied,  with 
feeling. 

"  That  sounds  as  though  you'd  tried  it  before." 

He  paid  no  attention  to  this  thrust. 

"  I  shan't  see  you  again  till  I  get  to  Brampton,"  he  said; 
"  that  will  be  a  whole  week.  And  then,"  he  ventured  to 
look  at  her,  "  I  shan't  see  you  until  the  Christmas  holi 
days.  You  might  be  a  little  kind,  Cynthia.  You  know 
I've  —  I've  always  thought  the  world  of  you.  I  don't 
know  how  I'm  going  to  get  through  the  three  months 
without  seeing  you." 

"  You  managed  to  get  through  a  good  many  years,"  said 
Cynthia,  looking  at  the  pavement. 

"  I  know,"  he  said;  "  I  was  sent  away  to  school  and  col 
lege,  and  our  lives  separated." 

"  Yes,  our  lives  separated,"  she  assented. 

"  And  I  didn't  know  you  were  going  to  be  like  —  like 
this,"  he  went  on,  vaguely  enough,  but  with  feeling. 

"  Like  what  ?  " 

"  Like  —  well,  I'd  rather  be  with  you  and  talk  to  you 
than  any  girl  I  ever  saw.  I  don't  care  who  she  is,"  Bob 
declared,  "or  how  much  she  may  have  travelled."  He  was 
running  into  deep  water.  "  Why  are  you  so  cold,  Cynthia  ? 


304  CONISTON 

Why  can't  you  be  as  you  used  to  be  ?  You  used  to  like 
me  well  enough." 

"  And  I  like  you  now,"  answered  Cynthia.  They  were 
very  near  the  hotel  by  this  time. 

"  You  talk  as  if  you  were  ten  years  older  than  I,"  he 
said,  smiling  plaintively. 

She  stopped  and  turned  to  him,  smiling.  They  had 
reached  the  steps. 

"  I  believe  I  am,  Bob,"  she  replied.  "  I  haven't  seen 
much  of  the  world,  but  I've  seen  something  of  its  troubles. 
Don't  be  foolish.  If  you're  coming  to  Brampton  just  to 
see  me,  don't  come.  Good-by."  And  she  gave  him  her 
hand  frankly. 

"  But  I  will  come  to  Brampton,"  he  cried,  taking  her 
hand  and  squeezing  it.  "  I'd  like  to  know  why  I  shouldn't 
come." 

As  Cynthia  drew  her  hand  away  a  gentleman  came  out 
of  the  hotel,  paused  for  a  brief  moment  by  the  door  and 
stared  at  them,  and  then  passed  on  without  a  word  or 
a  nod  of  recognition.  It  was  Mr.  Worthington.  Bob 
looked  after  his  father,  and  then  glanced  at  Cynthia. 
There  was  a  trifle  more  color  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  head 
was  raised  a  little,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him 
gravely. 

"  You  should  know  why  not,"  she  said,  and  before  he 
could  answer  her  she  was  gone  into  the  hotel.  He  did  not 
attempt  to  follow  her,  but  stood  where  she  had  left  him  in 
the  sunlight. 

He  was  aroused  by  the  voice  of  the  genial  colored  door 
keeper. 

"  Wai,  suh,  you  found  the  lady,  Mistah  Wo'thington. 
Thought  you  would,  suh.  T'other  young  gentleman  come 
in  while  ago  —  looked  as  if  he  was  f eeliri'  powerful  bad, 
Mistah  Wo'thington." 


CHAPTER   VII 

AN  AMAZING  ENCOUNTER 

WHEN  they  reached  Boston,  Cynthia  felt  almost  as  if 
she  were  home  again,  and  Ephraim  declared  that  he  had  had 
the  same  feeling  when  he  returned  from  the  war.  Though 
it  be  the  prosperous  capital  of  New  England,  it  is  a  city 
of  homes,  and  the  dwellers  of  it  have  held  stanchly  to 
the  belief  of  their  forefathers  that  the  home  is  the  very 
foundation-rock  of  the  nation.  Held  stanchly  to  other 
beliefs,  too:  that  wealth  carries  with  it  some  little  measure 
of  responsibility.  The  stranger  within  the  gates  of  that 
city  feels  that  if  he  falls,  a  heedless  world  will  not  go 
charging  over  his  body:  that  a  helping  hand  will  be 
stretched  out,  —  a  'helping  and  a  wise  hand  that  will 
inquire  into  the  circumstances  of  his  fall  —  but  still  a 
human  hand. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  parlor  of  the  Tremont  House 
that  morning  with  the  sun  streaming  in  the  windows, 
waiting  for  Ephraim. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  Cynthia  asked,  abruptly,  "  did  you 
ever  know  my  mother  ?  " 

Jethro  started,  and  looked  at  her  quickly. 

"  W-why,  Cynthy  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Because  she  grew  up  in  Coniston,"  answered  Cynthia. 
"I  never  thought  of  it  before,  but  of  course  you  must 
have  known  her." 

"  Yes,  I  knew  her,"  he  said. 

"  Did  you  know  her  well  ?  "  she  persisted. 

Jethro  got  up  and  went  over  to  the  window,  where  he 
stood  with  his  back  toward  her. 

"  Yes,  Cynthy,"  he  answered  at  length, 
x  305 


306  COKESTON 

"  Why  haven't  you  ever  told  me  about  her  ? "  asked 
Cynthia.  How  was  she  to  know  that  her  innocent  ques 
tions  tortured  him  cruelly ;  that  the  spirit  of  the  Cynthia 
who  had  come  to  him  in  the  tannery  house  had  haunted 
him  all  his  life,  and  that  she  herself,  a  new  Cynthia,  was 
still  that  spirit  ?  The  bygone  Cynthia  had  been  much  in 
his  thoughts  since  they  came  to  Boston. 

"  What  was  she  like  ?  " 

"  She  —  she  was  like  you,  Cynthy,"  he  said,  but  he  did 
not  turn  round.  "  She  was  a  clever  woman,  and  a  good 
woman,  and  —  a  lady,  Cynthy." 

The  girl  said  nothing  for  a  while,  but  she  tingled 
with  pleasure  because  Jethro  had  compared  her  to  her 
mother.  She  determined  to  try  to  be  like  that,  if  he 
thought  her  so. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said  presently,  "  I'd  like  to  go  to 
see  the  house  where  she  lived." 

"  Er  —  Ephraim  knows  it,"  said  Jethro. 

So  when  Ephraim  came  the  three  went  over  the  hill, 
past  the  State  House  which  Bulfinch  set  as  a  crown  on  the 
crest  of  it  looking  over  the  sweep  of  the  Common,  and  on 
into  the  maze  of  quaint,  old-world  streets  on  the  slope 
beyond  :  streets  with  white  porticos,  and  violet  panes  in 
the  windows.  They  came  to  an  old  square  hidden  away 
on  a  terrace  of  the  hill,  and  after  that  the  streets  grew 
narrower  and  dingier.  Ephraim,  whose  memory  never 
betrayed  him,  hobbled  up  to  a  shabby  house  in  the  middle 
of  one  of  these  blocks  and  rang  the  bell. 

"  Here's  where  I  found  Will  when  I  come  back  from  the 
war,"  he  said,  and  explained  the  matter  in  full  to  the  slat 
ternly  landlady  who  came  to  the  door.  She  was  a  good- 
natured  woman,  who  thought  her  boarder  would  not  mind, 
and  led  the  way  up  the  steep  stairs  to  the  chamber  over 
the  roofs  where  Wetherell  and  Cynthia  had  lived  and 
hoped  and  worked  together ;  where  he  had  written  those 
pages  by  which,  with  the  aid  of  her  loving  criticism,  he 
had  thought  to  become  famous.  The  room  was  as  bare  now 
as  it  had  been  then,  and  Ephraim,  poking  his  stick  through 
a  hole  in  the  carpet,  ventured  the  assertion  that  even  that 


AN  AMAZING  ENCOUNTER  307 

had  not  been  changed.  Jethro,  staring  out  over  the  chim 
ney  tops,  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes.  Cynthia  Ware 
had  come  to  this  ! 

"  I  found  him  right  here  in  that  bed,"  Ephraim  was 
saying,  and  he  poked  the  bottom  boards,  too.  "  The  same 
bed.  Had  a  shock  when  I  saw  him.  Callate  he  wouldn't 
have  lived  two  months  if  the  war  hadn't  bust  up  and  I 
hadn't  come  along." 

"Oh,  Cousin  Eph!  "  exclaimed  Cynthia. 

The  old  soldier  turned  and  saw  that  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes.  But,  stranger  than  that,  Cynthia  saw  that 
there  were  tears  in  his  own.  He  took  her  gently  by  the 
arm  and  led  her  down  the  stairs  again,  she  supporting  him, 
and  Jethro  following. 

That  same  morning,  Jethro,  whose  memory  was  quite 
as  good  as  Ephraim's,  found  a  little  shop  tucked  away  in 
Cornhill  which  had  been  miraculously  spared  in  the  ad 
vance  of  prosperity.  Mr.  Judson's  name,  however,  was 
no  longer  in  quaint  lettering  over  the  door.  Standing 
before  it,  Jethro  told  the  story  in  his  droll  way,  of  a  city 
clerk  and  a  country  bumpkin,  and  Cynthia  and  Ephraim 
both  laughed  so  heartily  that  the  people  who  were  passing 
turned  round  to  look  at  them  and  laughed  too.  For  the 
three  were  an  unusual  group,  even  in  Boston.  It  was  not 
until  they  were  seated  at  dinner  in  the  hotel,  Ephraim 
with  his  napkin  tucked  under  his  chin,  that  Jethro  gave 
them  the  key  to  the  characters  in  this  story. 

"  And  who  was  the  locket  for,  Uncle  Jethro  ?  "  demanded 
Cynthia. 

Jethro,  however,  shook  his  head,  and  would  not  be  in 
duced  to  tell. 

They  were  still  so  seated  when  Cynthia  perceived  com 
ing  toward  them  through  the  crowded  dining  room  a 
merry,  middle-aged  gentleman  with  a  bald  head.  He 
seemed  to  know  everybody  in  the  room,  for  he  was  kept 
busy  nodding  right  and  left  at  the  tables  until  he  came 
to  theirs.  He  was  Mr.  Merrill,  who  had  come  to  see  her 
father  in  Coniston,  and  who  had  spoken  so  kindly  to  her 
on  that  occasion. 


308  CONISTON 

"Well,  well,  well,"  he  said;  "Jethro,  you'll  be  the 
death  of  me  yet.  'Don't  write  —  send,'  eh?  Well,  as 
long  as  you  sent  word  you  were  here,  I  don't  complain. 
So  you  licked  'em  again,  eh  —  down  in  Washington? 
Never  had  a  doubt  but  what  you  would.  Is  this  the  new 
postmaster  ?  How  are  you,  Mr.  Prescott  —  and  Cynthia 
—  a  young  lady  !  Bless  my  soul,"  said  Mr.  Merrill,  look 
ing  her  over  as  he  shook  her  hand.  "  What  have  you 
done  to  her,  Jethro?  What  kind  of  beauty  powder  do  they 
use  in  Coniston  ?  " 

Mr.  Merrill  took  the  seat  next  to  her  and  continued  to 
talk,  scattering  his  pleasantries  equally  among  the  three, 
patting  her  arm  when  her  own  turn  came.  She  liked  Mr. 
Merrill  very  much;  he  seemed  to  her  (as,  indeed,  he  was) 
honest  and  kind-hearted.  Cynthia  was  not  lacking  in  a 
proper  appreciation  of  herself  —  that  may  have  been  dis 
covered.  But  she  was  puzzled  to  know  why  this  gentleman 
should  make  it  a  point  to  pay  such  particular  attention  to 
a  young  country  girl.  Other  railroad  presidents  whom  she 
could  name  had  not  done  so.  She  was  thinking  of  these 
things,  rather  than  listening  to  Mr.  Merrill's  conversa 
tion,  when  the  sound  of  Mr.  Worthington's  name  startled 
her. 

"  Well,  Jethro,"  Mr.  Merrill  was  saying,  "  you  certainly 
nipped  this  little  game  of  Worthington's  in  the  bud. 
Thought  he'd  take  you  in  the  rear  by  going  to  Washing 
ton,  did  he  ?  Ha,  ha  !  I'd  like  to  know  how  you  did  it. 
I'll  get  you  to  tell  me  to-night  —  see  if  I  don't.  You're 
all  coming  in  to  supper  to-night,  you  know,  at  seven 
o'clock." 

Ephraim  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork  for  the  first  time. 
Were  the  wonders  of  this  journey  never  to  cease  ?  And 
Jethro,  once  in  his  life,  looked  nervous. 

"  Er  —  er  —  Cynthy'll  go,  Steve  —  Cynthy'll  go." 

"  Yes,  Cynthy'll  go,"  laughed  Mr.  Merrill,  "  and  you'll 
go,  and  Ephraim'll  go."  Although  he  by  no  means  liked 
everybody,  as  would  appear  at  first  glance,  Mr.  Merrill 
had  a  way  of  calling  people  by  their  first  names  when  he 
did  fancy  them. 


AN  AMAZING  ENCOUNTER  309 

"  Er  —  Steve,"  said  Jethro,  "  what  would  your  wife  say 
if  I  was  to  drink  coffee  out  of  my  saucer  ?  " 

"  Let's  see,"  said  Mr.  Merrill,  grave  for  once.  "  What's 
the  punishment  for  that  in  my  house  ?  I  know  what  she'd 
do  if  you  didn't  drink  it.  What  do  you  think  she'd  do, 
Cynthy  ?  " 

"  Ask  him  what  was  the  matter  with  it,"  said  Cynthia, 
promptly. 

"  Well,  Cynthy,"  said  he,  "  I  know  why  these  old  fel 
lows  take  you  round  with  'em.  To  take  care  of  'em,  eh  ? 
They're  not  fit  to  travel  alone." 

And  so  it  was  settled,  after  much  further  argument,  that 
they  were  all  to  sup  at  Mr.  Merrill's  house,  Cynthia  stoutly 
maintaining  that  she  would  not  desert  them.  And  then 
Mr.  Merrill,  having  several  times  repeated  the  street  and 
number,  went  back  to  his  office.  There  was  much  mys 
terious  whispering  between  Ephraim  and  Jethro  in  the 
hotel  parlor  after  dinner,  while  Cynthia  was  turning  over 
the  leaves  of  a  magazine,  and  then  Ephraim  proposed  going 
out  to  see  the  sights. 

"Where's  Uncle  Jethro  going?"  she  asked. 

"  le'll  meet  us,"  said  Ephraim,  promptly,  but  his  voice 
was  not  quite  steady. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Jethro  !  "  cried  Cynthia,  "  you're  trying  to 
get  out  of  it.  You  remember  you  promised  to  meet  us  in 
Washington." 

"  Guess  he'll  keep  this  app'intment,"  said  Ephraim,  who 
seemed  to  be  full  of  a  strange  mirth  that  bubbled  over, 
for  he  actually  winked  at  Jethro. 

Cynthia's  mind  flew  to  Bunker  Hill  and  the  old  North 
Church,  but  they  went  first  to  Faneuil  Hall.  Presently 
they  found  themselves  among  the  crowd  in  Washington 
Street,  where  Ephraim  confessed  the  trepidation  which  he 
felt  over  the  coming  supper  party:  a  trepidation  greater, 
so  he  declared  many  times,  than  he  had  ever  experienced 
before  any  of  his  battles  in  the  war.  He  stopped  once  or 
twice  in  the  eddy  of  the  crowd  to  glance  up  at  the  numbers, 
and  finally  came  to  a  halt  before  the  windows  of  a  large 
dry-goods  store. 


310  CONISTON 

"  I  guess  I  ought  to  buy  a  new  shirt  for  this  occasion, 
Cynthy,"  he  said,  staring  hard  at  the  articles  of  apparel 
displayed  there.  "  Let's  go  in." 

Cynthia  laughed  outright,  since  Ephraim  could  not  by 
any  chance  have  worn  any  of  the  articles  in  question. 

"Why,  Cousin  Ephraim,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  can't 
buy  gentlemen's  things  here." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  you  can,"  said  Ephraim,  and  hobbled  con 
fidently  in  at  the  doorway.  There  we  will  leave  him  for 
a  while  conversing  in  an  undertone  with  a  floor-walker, 
and  follow  Jethro.  He,  curiously  enough,  had  some  fif 
teen  minutes  before  gone  in  at  the  same  doorway,  ques 
tioned  the  same  floor-walker,  and  he  found  himself  in  due 
time  walking  amongst  a  bewildering  lot  of  models  on  the 
third  floor,  followed  by  a  giggling  saleswoman. 

"  What  kind  of  a  dress  do  you  want,  sir?"  asked  the 
saleslady,  —  for  we  are  impelled  to  call  her  so. 

"S-silk  cloth,"  said  Jethro. 

"  What  shades  of  silk  would  you  like,  sir?  " 

"Shades?  shades?     What  do  you  mean  by  shades?  " 

"  Why,  colors,"  said  the  saleslady,  giggling  openly. 

"  Green,"  said  Jethro,  with  considerable  emphasis. 

The  saleslady  clapped  her  hand  over  her  mouth  and  led 
the  way  to  another  model. 

"  You  don't  call  that  green  —  do  you  ?  That's  not 
green  enough." 

They  inspected  another  dress,  and  then  another  and 
another, — not  all  of  them  were  green,  — Jethro  express 
ing  very  decided  ii:  not  expert  views  on  each  o^  them.  At 
last  he  paused  batore  two  models  at  the  far  end  of  the 
room,  passing  his  hand  repeatedly  over  each  as  he  had 
done  so  often  with  the  cattle  of  Coniston. 

"These  two  pieces  same  kind  of  goods?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes." 

"  Er  —  this  one  is  a  little  shinier  than  that  one?  " 

"  Perhaps  the  finish  is  a  little  higher,"  ventured  the 
saleslady. 

"  Sh-shinier,"  said  Jethro. 

"  Yes,  shinier,  if  ycru  please  to  call  it  so." 


AN  AMAZING  ENCOUNTER  311 

"  W-what  would  you  call  it  ?  " 

By  this  time  the  saleslady  had  become  quite  hysterical, 
and  altogether  incapable  of  performing  her  duties.  Jethro 
looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  disgust,  and  in  his  predica 
ment  cast  around  for  another  to  wait  on  him.  There  was 
no  lack  of  these,  at  a  safe  distance,  but  they  all  seemed  to 
be  affected  by  the  same  mania.  Jethro 's  eye  alighted  upon 
the  back  of  another  customer.  She  was,  apparently,  a 
respectable-looking  lady  of  uncertain  age,  and  her  own 
attention  was  so  firmly  fixed  in  the  contemplation  of  a 
model  that  she  had  not  remarked  the  merriment  about 
her,  nor  its  cause.  She  did  not  see  Jethro,  either,  as  he 
strode  across  to  her.  Indeed,  her  first  intimation  of  his 
presence  was  a  dig  in  her  arm.  The  lady  turned,  gave  a 
gasp  of  amazement  at  the  figure  confronting  her,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  annihilate  it  with  an  eye  that  few  women 
possess. 

"  H-how  do,  Ma'am,"  he  said.  Had  he  known  anything 
about  the  appearance  of  women  in  general,  he  might  have 
realized  that  he  had  struck  a  tartar.  This  lady  was  at 
least  sixty-five,  and  probably  unmarried.  Her  face,  though 
not  at  all  unpleasant,  was  a  study  in  character-develop 
ment:  she  wore  ringlets,  a  peculiar  bonnet  of  a  bygone 
age,  and  her  clothes  had  certain  eccentricities  which,  for 
lack  of  knowledge,  must  be  omitted.  In  short,  the  lady 
was  no  fool,  and  not  being  one  she  glanced  at  the  giggling 
group  of  saleswomen  and  —  wonderful  to  relate  —  they 
stopped  giggling.  Then  she  looked  again  at  Jethro  — 
and  gave  him  a  smile.  One  of  superiority,  no  doubt,  but 
still  a  smile. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  " 

"  T-trying  to  buy  a  silk  cloth  gown  for  a  woman. 
There's  two  over  here  I  fancied  a  little.  Er  —  thought 
perhaps  you'd  help  me." 

"  Where  are  the  dresses  ?  "  she  demanded  abruptly. 

Jethro  led  the  way  in  silence  until  they  came  to  the 
models.  She  planted  herself  in  front  of  them  and  looked 
them  over  swiftly  but  critically. 

"  What  is  the  age  of  the  lady  ?  " 


312  CONISTON 

"  W-what  difference  does  that  make  ? "  said  Jethro, 
whose  instinct  was  against  committing  himself  to  strangers. 

"  Difference ! "  she  exclaimed  sharply,  "  it  makes  a 
considerable  difference.  Perhaps  not  to  you,  but  to  the 
lady.  What  coloring  is  she  ?  " 

"C-coloring?    She's  white." 

His  companion  turned  her  back  on  him. 

"  What  size  is  she  ?  " 

"  A-about  that  size,"  said  Jethro,  pointing  to  a  model. 

"About!  about!"  she  ejaculated,  and  then  she  faced 
him.  "  Now  look  here,  my  friend,"  she  said  vigorously, 
"  there's  something  very  mysterious  about  all  this.  You 
look  like  a  good  man,  but  you  may  be  a  very  wicked  one 
for  all  I  know.  I've  lived  long  enough  to  discover  that 
appearances,  especially  where  your  sex  is  concerned,  are 
deceitful.  Unless  you  are  willing  to  tell  me  who  this  lady 
is  for  whom  you  are  buying  silk  dresses,  and  what  your 
relationship  is  to  her,  I  shall  leave  you.  And  mind,  no 
evasions.  I  can  detect  the  truth  pretty  well  when  I  hear 
it." 

Unexpected  as  it  was,  Jethro  gave  back  a  step  or  two 
before  this  onslaught  of  feminine  virtue,  and  the  move 
ment  did  not  tend  to  raise  him  in  the  lady's  esteem.  He 
felt  that  he  would  rather  face  General  Grant  a  thousand 
times  than  this  person.  She  was,  indeed,  preparing  to 
sweep  away  when  there  came  a  familiar  tap-tap  behind 
them  on  the  bare  floor,  and  he  turned  to  behold  Ephraim 
hobbling  toward  them  with  the  aid  of  his  green  umbrella, 
Cynthia  by  his  side. 

"  Why,  it's  Uncle  Jethro,"  cried  Cynthia,  looking  at 
him  and  the  lady  in  astonishment,  and  then  with  equal 
astonishment  at  the  models.  "  What  in  the  world  are  you 
doing  here  ? "  Then  a  light  seemed  to  dawn  on  her. 
"  You  frauds !  So  this  is  what  you  were  whispering 
about!  This  is  the  way  Cousin  Ephraim  buys  his 
shirts  ! " 

"  C-Cynthy,"  said  Jethro,  apologetically,  "  d-don't  you 
think  you  ought  to  have  a  nice  city  dress  for  that  supper 
party  ?  " 


AN  AMAZING  ENCOUNTER  313 

"  So  you're  ashamed  of  my  country  clothes,  are  you  ?  " 
she  asked  gayly. 

"  W-want  you  to  have  the  best,  Cynthy,"  he  replied. 
"  M-meant  to  have  it  all  chose  and  bought  when  you 
come,  but  I  got  into  a  kind  of  argument  with  this  lady." 

"  Argument  !"  exclaimed  the  lady.  But  she  did  not 
seem  displeased.  She  had  been  staring  very  fixedly  at 
Cynthia.  "  My  dear,"  she  continued  kindly,  "  you  look 
like  some  one  I  used  to  know  a  long,  long  time  ago,  and 
I'll  be  glad  to  help  you.  Your  uncle  may  be  sensible 
enough  in  other  matters,  but  I  tell  him  frankly  he  is  out 
of  place  here.  Let  him  go  away  and  sit  down  somewhere 
with  the  other  gentleman,  and  we'll  get  the  dress  between 
us,  if  he'll  tell  us  how  much  to  pay." 

"  P-pay  anything,  so's  you  get  it,"  said  Jethro. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,  do  you  really  want  it  so  much  ?  " 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  Cynthia  did  not  wish  for 
a  dress,  too.  But  the  sense  of  dependence  on  Jethro  and 
the  fear  of  straining  his  purse  never  quite  wore  off.  So 
Jethro  and  Ephraim  took  to  a  bench  at  some  distance, 
and  at  last  a  dress  was  chosen  —  not  one  of  the  gorgeous 
models  Jethro  had  picked  out,  but  a  pretty,  simple,  girl 
ish  gown  which  Cynthia  herself  had  liked  and  of  which 
the  lady  highly  approved.  Not  content  with  helping  to 
choose  it,  the  lady  must  satisfy  herself  that  it  fit,  which 
it  did  perfectly.  And  so  Cynthia  was  transformed  into  a 
city  person,  though  her  skin  glowed  with  a  health  with 
which  few  city  people  are  blessed. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  lady,  still  staring  at  her,  "you  look 
very  well.  I  should  scarcely  have  supposed  it."  Cyn 
thia  took  the  remark  in  good  part,  for  she  thought  the 
lady  a  character,  which  she  was.  "  I  hope  you  will  re 
member  that  we  women  were  created  for  a  higher  purpose 
than  mere  beauty.  The  Lord  gave  us  brains,  and  meant 
that  we  should  use  them.  If  you  have  a  good  mind,  as 
I  believe  you  have,  learn  to  employ  it  for  the  betterment 
of  your  sex,  for  the  time  of  our  emancipation  is  at  hand." 
Having  delivered  this  little  lecture,  the  lady  continued 
to  stare  at  her  with  keen  eyes.  "You  look  very  much 


314  CONISTON 

like  some  one  I  used  to  love  when  I  was  younger.  What 
is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Cynthia  Wetherell." 

"  Cynthia  Wetherell  ?  Was  your  mother  Cynthia  Ware, 
from  Coniston  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Cynthia,  amazed. 

In  an  instant  the  strange  lady  had  risen  and  had  taken 
Cynthia  in  her  embrace,  new  dress  and  all. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  thought  your  face  had  a  fa 
miliar  look.  It  was  your  mother  I  knew  and  loved.  I'm 
Miss  Lucretia  Pennmian." 

Miss  Lucretia  Penniman  !  Could  this  be,  indeed,  the 
authoress  of  the  "  Hymn  to  Coniston,"  of  whom  Bramp- 
ton  was  so  proud  ?  The  Miss  Lucretia  Penniman  who 
sounded  the  first  clarion  note  for  the  independence  of 
American  women,  the  friend  of  Bryant  and  Hawthorne 
and  Longfellow  ?  Cynthia  had  indeed  heard  of  her.  Did 
not  all  Brampton  point  to  the  house  which  had  held  the 
Social  Library  as  to  a  shrine  ? 

"  Cynthia,"  said  Miss  Lucretia,  "  I  have  a  meeting  now 
of  a  girls'  charity  to  which  I  must  go,  but  you  will  come 
to  me  at  the  offices  of  the  Woman's  Hour  to-morrow 
morning  at  ten.  I  wish  to  talk  to  you  about  your  mother 
and  yourself." 

Cynthia  promised,  provided  they  did  not  leave  for  Con 
iston  earlier,  and  in  that  event  agreed  to  write.  Where 
upon  Miss  Lucretia  kissed  her  again  and  hurried  off  to 
her  meeting.  On  the  way  back  to  the  Tremont  House 
Cynthia  related  excitedly  the  whole  circumstance  to 
Jethro  and  Ephraim.  Ephraim  had  heard  of  Miss  Lucre 
tia,  of  course.  Who  had  not?  But  he  did  not  read 
the  Woman's  Hour.  Jethro  was  silent.  Perhaps  he  was 
thinking  of  that  fresh  summer  morning,  so  long  ago, 
when  a  girl  in  a  gig  had  overtaken  him  in  the  canon  made 
by  the  Brampton  road  through  the  woods.  The  girl  had 
worn  a  poke  bonnet,  and  was  returning  a  book  to  this 
same  Miss  Lucretia  Penniman's  Social  Library.  And  the 
book  was  the  "Life  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte." 

"  Uncle  Jethro,  shall  we  still  be  in  Boston  to-morrow 
morning?"  Cynthia  asked. 


AN  AMAZING  ENCOUNTER  315 

He  roused  himself. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "yes." 

"  When  are  you  going  home  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  this  simple  question,  but  countered. 

"  Hain't  you  enjoyin'  yourself,  Cynthy  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  she  declared.  But  she  thought  it 
strange  that  he  would  not  tell  her  when  they  would  be  in 
Coniston. 

Ephraim  did  buy  a  new  shirt,  and  also  (in  view  of  the 
postmastership  in  his  pocket)  a  new  necktie,  his  old  one 
being  slightly  frayed. 

The  grandeur  of  the  approaching  supper  party  and  the 
fear  of  Mrs.  Merrill  hung  very  heavy  over  him ;  nor  was 
Jethro's  mind  completely  at  rest.  Ephraim  even  went  so 
far  as  to  discuss  the  question  as  to  whether  Mr.  Merrill 
had  not  surpassed  his  authority  in  inviting  him,  and  fully 
expected  to  be  met  at  the  door  by  that  gentleman  utter 
ing  profuse  apologies,  which  Ephraim  was  quite  prepared 
and  willing  to  take  in  good  faith. 

Nothing  of  the  kind  happened,  however.  Mr.  Merrill's 
railroad  being  a  modest  one,  his  house  was  modest  like 
wise.  But  Ephraim  thought  it  grand  enough,  and  yet 
acknowledged  a  homelike  quality  in  its  grandeur.  He 
began  by  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa  and  staring  at 
the  cut-glass  chandelier,  but  in  five  minutes  he  discovered 
with  a  shock  of  surprise  that  he  was  actually  leaning  back, 
describing  in  detail  how  his  regiment  had  been  cheered  as 
they  marched  through  Boston.  And  incredible  as  it  may 
seem,  the  person  whom  he  was  entertaining  in  this  manner 
was  Mrs.  Stephen  Merrill  herself.  Mrs.  Merrill  was  as 
tall  as  Mr.  Merrill  was  short.  She  wore  a  black  satin 
dress  with  a  big  cameo  brooch  pinned  at  her  throat,  her 
hair  was  gray,  and  her  face  almost  masculine  until  it 
lighted  up  with  a  wonderfully  sweet  smile.  That  smile 
made  Ephraim  and  Jethro  feel  at  home  ;  and  Cynthia,  too, 
who  liked  Mrs.  Merrill  the  moment  she  laid  eyes  on  her. 

Then  there  were  the  daughters,  Jane  and  Susan,  who 
welcomed  her  with  a  hospitality  truly  amazing  for  city 
people.  Jane  was  big-boned  like  her  mother,  but  Susan 


316  CONISTON 

was  short  and  plump  and  merry  like  her  father.  Susan 
talked  and  laughed,  and  Jane  sat  and  listened  and  smiled, 
and  Cynthia  could  not  decide  which  she  liked  the  better. 
And  presently  they  all  went  into  the  dining  room  to 
supper,  where  there  was  another  chandelier  over  the  table. 
There  was  also  real  silver,  which  shone  brilliantly  on  the 
white  cloth  —  but  there  was  nothing  to  eat. 

"Do  tell  us  another  story,  Mr.  Prescott,"  said  Susan, 
who  had  listened  to  his  last  one. 

The  sight  of  the  table,  however,  had  for  the  moment 
upset  Ephraim. 

"  Get  Jethro  to  tell  you  how  he  took  dinner  with  Jedge 
Binney,"  he  said. 

This  suggestion,  under  the  circumstances,  might  not 
have  been  a  happy  one,  but  its  lack  of  appropriateness  did 
not  strike  Jethro  either.  He  yielded  to  the  demand. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  supposed  I  was  goin'  to  set  down 
same  as  I  would  at  home,  where  we  put  the  vittles  on  the 
table.  W- wondered  what  I  was  goin'  to  eat — wahn't 
nothin'  but  a  piece  of  bread  on  the  table.  S-sat  there 
and  watched  'em  —  nobody  ate  anything.  Presently  I 
found  out  that  Binney's  wife  ran  her  house  same  as  they 
run  hotels.  Pretty  soon  a  couple  of  girls  come  in  and 
put  down  some  food  and  took  it  away  again  before  you 
had  a  chance.  A-after  a  while  we  had  coffee,  and  when  I 
set  my  cup  on  the  table,  I  noticed  Mis'  Binney  looked  kind 
of  cross  and  began  whisperin'  to  the  girls.  One  of  'em 
fetched  a  small  plate  and  took  my  cup  and  set  it  on  the 
plate.  That  was  all  right.  I  used  the  plate. 

"  Well,  along  about  next  summer  Binney  had  to  come 
to  Coniston  to  see  me  on  a  little  matter  and  fetched  his 
wife.  Listy,  my  wife,  was  alive  then.  I'd  made  up  my 
mind  that  if  I  could  ever  get  Mis'  Binney  to  eat  at  my 
place  I  would,  so  I  asked  'em  to  stay  to  dinner.  When 
we  set  down,  I  said  :  '  Now,  Mis'  Binney,  you  and  the 
Judge  take  right  hold,  and  anything  you  can't  reach, 
speak  out  and  we'll  wait  on  you.'  And  Mis'  Binney? 

" '  Yes,'  she  said.  She  was  a  little  mite  scared,  I  guess. 
B-begun  to  suspect  somethin'. 


AN  AMAZING  ENCOUNTER  317 

" '  Mis'  Binney,'  said  I,  '  y-you  can  set  your  cup  and 
sarcer  where  you've  a  mind  to.'  O-ought  to  have  heard 
the  Judge  laugh.  Says  he  to  his  wife :  '  Fanny,  I  told  you 
Jethro'd  get  even  with  you  some  time  for  that  sarcer 
business.' " 

This  story,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  had  a  great  success 
at  Mr.  Merrill's  table.  Mr.  Merrill  and  his  daughter 
Susan  shrieked  with  laughter  when  it  was  finished,  while 
Mrs.  Merrill  and  Jane  enjoyed  themselves  quite  as  much 
in  their  quiet  way.  Even  the  two  neat  Irish  maids,  who 
were  serving  the  supper  very  much  as  poor  Mis'  Binney's 
had  been  served,  were  fain  to  leave  the  dining  room 
abruptly,  and  one  of  them  disgraced  herself  at  sight  of 
Jethro  when  she  came  in  again,  and  had  to  go  out  once 
more.  Mrs.  Merrill  insisted  that  Jethro  should  pour  out 
his  coffee  in  what  she  was  pleased  to  call  the  old-fashioned 
way.  All  of  which  goes  to  prove  that  table-silver  and  cut- 
glass  chandeliers  do  not  invariably  make  their  owners 
heartless  and  inhospitable.  And  Ephraim,  whose  plan  of 
campaign  had  been  to  eat  nothing  to  speak  of  and  have  a 
meal  when  he  got  back  to  the  hotel,  found  that  he  wasn't 
hungry  when  he  arose  from  the  table. 

There  was  much  bantering  of  Jethro  by  Mr.  Merrill, 
which  the  ladies  did  not  understand  —  talk  of  a  mighty 
coalition  of  the  big  railroads  which  was  to  swallow  up  the 
little  railroads.  Fortunately,  said  Mr.  Merrill,  humor 
ously,  fortunately  they  did  not  want  Ms  railroad.  Or  un 
fortunately,  which  was  it?  Jethro  didn't  know.  He 
never  laughed  at  anybody's  jokes.  But  Cynthia,  who  was 
listening  with  one  ear  while  Susan  talked  into  the  other, 
gathered  that  Jethro  had  been  struggling  with  the  rail 
roads,  and  was  sooner  or  later  to  engage  in  a  mightier 
struggle  with  them.  How,  she  asked  herself  in  her  inno 
cence,  was  any  one,  even  Uncle  Jethro,  to  struggle  with 
a  railroad?  Many  other  people  in  these  latter  days  have 
asked  themselves  that  very  question. 

All  together  the  evening  at  Mr.  Merrill's  passed  off  so 
quickly  and  so  happily  that  Ephrairn  was  dismayed  when 
he  discovered  that  it  was  ten  o'clock,  and  he  began  to 


318  CONISTON 

make  elaborate  apologies  to  the  ladies.  But  Jethro  and 
Mr.  Merrill  were  still  closeted  together  in  the  dining 
room  :  once  Mrs.  Merrill  had  been  called  to  that  confer 
ence,  and  had  returned  after  a  while  to  take  her  place 
quietly  again  among  the  circle  of  Ephraim's  listeners. 
Now  Mr.  Merrill  came  out  of  the  dining  room  alone. 

"  Cynthia,"  he  said,  and  his  tone  was  a  little  more  grave 
than  usual,  "your  Uncle  Jethro  wants  to  speak  to  you." 

Cynthia  rose,  with  a  sense  of  something  in  the  air  which 
concerned  her,  and  went  into  the  dining  room.  Was  it 
the  light  falling  from  above  that  brought  out  the  lines 
of  his  face  so  strongly  ?  Cynthia  did  not  know,  but  she 
crossed  the  room  swiftly  and  sat  down  beside  him. 

"  What  is  it,  Uncle  Jethro  ?  " 

"  C-Cynthy,"  he  said,  putting  his  hand  over  hers  on  the 
table,  "  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me  —  er  —  for 
me,"  he  repeated,  emphasizing  the  last  word. 

"  I'll  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you,  Uncle  Jethro," 
she  answered  ;  "  you  know  that.  What  —  what  is  it  ?  " 

*  L-%e  Mr.  Merrill,  don't  you  ?  " 

'  Yes,'  indeed." 

'  L-like  Mrs.  Merrill  —  like  the  gals  —  don't  you  ?  " 

'  Very  much,"  said  Cynthia,  perplexedly. 

'Like  'em  enough  to  —  to  live  with  'em  a  winter  ?" 

1  Live  with  them  a  winter  !  " 

'  C-Cynthy,  I  want  you  should  stay  in  Boston  this 
winter  and  go  to  a  young  ladies'  school." 

It  was  out.  He  had  said  it,  though  he  never  quite 
knew  where  he  had  found  the  courage. 

"  Uncle  Jethro  !  "  she  cried.  She  could  only  look  at 
him  in  dismay,  but  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes  and 
sparkled. 

"  You  —  you'll  be  happy  here,  Cynthy.  It'll  be  a  change 
for  you.  And  I  shan't  be  so  lonesome  as  you'd  think. 
I'll  —  I'll  be  busy  this  winter,  Cynthy." 

"  You  know  that  I  wouldn't  leave  you,  Uncle  Jethro," 
she  said  reproachfully.  "  I  should  be  lonesome,  if  you 
wouldn't.  You  would  be  lonesome  —  you  know  you 
would  be." 


AN  AMAZING  ENCOUNTER  319 

"  You'll  do  this  for  me,  Cynthy.  S-said  you  would, 
didn't  you  —  said  you  would  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  want  me  to  do  this  ?  " 

"  W-want  you  to  go  to  school  for  a  winter,  Cynthy. 
Shouldn't  think  I'd  done  right  by  you  if  I  didn't." 

"  But  I  have  been  to  school.  Daddy  taught  me  a  lot, 
and  Mr.  Satterlee  has  taught  me  a  great  deal  more.  I 
know  as  much  as  most  girls  of  my  age,  and  I  will  study  so 
hard  in  Coniston  this  winter,  if  that  is  what  you  want. 
I've  never  neglected  rny  lessons,  Uncle  Jethro." 

"  'Tain't  book-larnin'  —  'tain't  what  you'd  get  in  book- 
larnin'  in  Boston,  Cynthy." 

"  What,  then  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,"  said  Jethro,  "  they'd  teach  you  to  be  a  lady, 
Cynthy." 

«  A  lady  !  " 

"  Your  father  come  of  good  people,  and  —  and  your 
mother  was  a  lady.  I'm  only  a  rough  old  man,  Cynthy, 
and  I  don't  know  much  about  the  ways  of  fine  folks.  But 
you've  got  it  in  ye,  and  I  want  you  should  be  equal  to  the 
best  of  'em.  You  can.  And  I  shouldn't  die  content  unless 
I'd  felt  that  you'd  had  the  chance.  Er  —  Cynthy —  will 
you  do  it  for  me  ?  " 

She  was  silent  a  long  while  before  she  turned  to  him, 
and  then  the  tears  were  running  very  swiftly  down  her 
cheeks. 

"  Yes,  I  will  do  it  for  you,"  she  answered.  "  Uncle 
Jethro,  I  believe  you  are  the  best  man  in  the  world." 

"  D-don't  say  that,  Cynthy  —  d-don't  say  that,"  he  ex 
claimed,  and  a  sharp  agony  was  in  his  voice.  He  got  to 
his  feet  and  went  to  the  folding  doors  and  opened  them. 
"  Steve  !  "  he  called,  "  Steve  !  " 

"S-says  she'll  stay,  Steve." 

Mr.  Merrill  had  come  in,  followed  by  his  wife.  Cynthia 
saw  them  but  dimly  through  her  tears.  And  while  she 
tried  to  wipe  the  tears  away  she  felt  Mrs.  Merrill's  arm 
about  her,  and  heard  that  lady  say :  — 

"  We'll  try  to  make  you  very  happy,  my  dear,  and  send 
you  back  safely  in  the  spring." 


CHAPTER    VIII 

CYNTHIA   LEARNS    HOW   TO   BE   FASHIONABLE 

AN  attempt  will  be  made  in  these  pages  to  set  down 
such  incidents  which  alone  may  be  vital  to  this  chronicle, 
now  so  swiftly  running  on.  The  reasons  why  Mr.  Mer 
rill  was  willing  to  take  Cynthia  into  his  house  must 
certainly  be  clear  to  the  reader.  In  the  first  place,  he 
was  under  very  heavy  obligations  to  Jethro  Bass  for  many 
favors ;  in  the  second  place,  Mr.  Merrill  had  a  real  affec 
tion  for  Jethro,  which,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  some, 
was  quite  possible;  and  in  the  third  place,  Mr.  Merrill 
had  taken  a  fancy  to  Cynthia,  and  he  had  never  forgotten 
the  unintentional  wrong  he  had  done  William  Wetherell. 
Mr.  Merrill  was  a  man  of  impulses,  and  generally  of 
good  impulses.  Had  he  not  himself  urged  upon  Jethro 
the  arrangement,  it  would  never  have  come  about.  Lastly, 
he  had  invited  Cynthia  to  his  house  that  his  wife  might 
inspect  her,  and  Mrs.  Merrill's  verdict  had  been  in 
stant  and  favorable  —  a  verdict  not  given  in  words. 
A  single  glance  was  sufficient,  for  these  good  people  so 
understood  each  other  that  Mrs.  Merrill  had  only  to  raise 
her  eyes  to  her  husband's,  and  this  she  did  shortly  after 
the  supper  party  began;  while  she  was  pouring  the  coffee, 
to  be  exact.  Thus  the  compact  that  Cynthia  was  to  spend 
the  winter  in  their  house  was  ratified. 

There  was,  first  of  all,  the  parting  with  Jethro  and  the 
messages  with  which  he  and  Ephraim  were  laden  for  the 
whole  village  and  town  of  Coniston.  It  was  very  hard, 
that  parting,  and  need  not  be  dwelt  upon.  Ephraim 
waved  his  blue  handkerchief  as  the  train  pulled  out,  but 
Jethro  stood  on  the  platform,  silent  and  motionless :  more 

320 


CYNTHIA  LEARNS  HOW  TO  BE  FASHIONABLE    321 

eloquent  in  his  sorrow  —  so  Mr.  Merrill  thought  —  than 
any  human  being  he  had  ever  known.  Mr.  Merrill  won 
dered  if  Jethro's  sorrow  were  caused  by  this  parting 
alone  ;  he  believed  it  was  not,  and  suddenly  guessed  at 
the  true  note  of  it.  Having  come  by  chance  upon  the 
answer  to  the  riddle,  Mr.  Merrill  stood  still  with  his 
hand  on  the  carriage  door  and  marvelled  that  he  had  not 
seen  it  all  sooner.  He  was  a  man  to  take  to  heart  the 
troubles  of  his  friends.  A  subtle  change  had  indeed 
come  over  Jethro,  and  he  was  not  the  same  man  Mr. 
Merrill  had  known  for  many  years.  Would  others,  the 
men  with  whom  Jethro  contended  and  the  men  he  com 
manded,  mark  this  change  ?  And  what  effect  would  it 
have  on  the  conflict  for  the  mastery  of  a  state  which  was 
to  be  waged  from  now  on  ? 

"  Father,"  said  his  daughter  Susan,  "  if  you  don't  get 
in  and  close  the  door,  we'll  drive  off  and  leave  you  stand 
ing  on  the  sidewalk." 

Thus  Cynthia  went  to  her  new  friends  in  their  own 
carriage.  Mrs.  Merrill  was  goodness  itself,  and  loved  the 
girl  for  what  she  was.  How,  indeed,  was  she  to  help 
loving  her?  Cynthia  was  scrupulous  in  her  efforts  to 
give  no  trouble,  and  yet  she  never  had  the  air  of  a  depend 
ent  or  a  beneficiary ;  but  held  her  head  high,  and  when 
called  upon  gave  an  opinion  as  though  she  had  a  right  to 
it.  The  very  first  morning  Susan,  who  was  prone  to  be 
late  to  breakfast,  came  down  in  a  great  state  of  excite 
ment  and  laughter. 

"  What  do  you  think  Cynthia's  done,  Mother  ? "  she 
cried.  "  I  went  into  her  room  a  while  ago,  and  it  was  all 
swept  and  aired,  and  she  was  making  up  the  bed." 

"  That's  an  excellent  plan,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  "  to-mor 
row  morning  you  three  girls  will  have  a  race  to  see  who 
makes  up  her  room  first." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  race  at  bed-making  never 
came  off,  Susan  and  Jane  having  pushed  Cynthia  into  a 
corner  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  and  made  certain 
forcible  representations  which  she  felt  bound  to  respect, 
and  a  treaty  was  drawn  up  and  faithfully  carried  out 


322  CONISTOtf 

between  the  three,  that  she  was  to  do  her  own  room  if 
necessary  to  her  happiness.  The  chief  gainer  by  the 
arrangement  was  the  chambermaid. 

Odd  as  it  may  seem,  the  Misses  Merrill  lived  amicably 
enough  with  Cynthia.  It  is  a  difficult  matter  to  force  an 
account  of  the  relationship  of  five  people  living  in  one 
house  into  a  few  pages,  but  the  fact  that  the  Merrills 
had  large  hearts  makes  this  simpler.  There  are  few 
families  who  can  accept  with  ease  the  introduction  of  a 
stranger  into  their  midst,  even  for  a  time,  and  there  are 
fewer  strangers  who  can  with  impunity  be  introduced. 
The  sisters  quarrelled  among  themselves  as  all  sisters 
will,  and  sometimes  quarrelled  with  Cynthia.  But  oftener 
they  made  her  the  arbiter  of  their  disputes,  and  asked 
her  advice  on  certain  matters.  Especially  was  this  true 
of  Susan,  whom  certain  young  gentlemen  from  Harvard 
College  called  upon  more  or  less  frequently,  and  Cynthia 
had  all  of  Susan's  love  affairs — including  the  current 
one  —  by  heart  in  a  very  short  time. 

As  for  Cynthia,  there  were  many  subjects  on  which 
she  had  to  take  the  advice  of  the  sisters.  They  did 
not  criticise  the  joint  creations  of  herself  and  Miss  Sukey 
Kittredge  as  frankly  as  Janet  Duncan  had  done  ;  but 
Jethro  had  left  in  Mrs.  Merrill's  hands  a  certain  suffi 
cient  sum  for  new  dresses  for  Cynthia,  and  in  due  time 
the  dresses  were  got  and  worn.  To  do  them  justice,  the 
sisters  were  really  sincere  in  their  rejoicings  over  the  very 
wonderful  transformation  which  they  had  been  chiefly 
instrumental  in  effecting. 

It  is  not  a  difficult  task  to  praise  a  heroine,  and  one  that 
should  be  indulged  in  but  charily.  But  let  some  little 
indulgence  be  accorded  this  particular  heroine  by  reason  of 
the  life  she  had  led,  and  the  situation  in  which  she  now 
found  herself  :  a  poor  Coniston  girl,  dependent  on  one 
who  was  not  her  father,  though  she  loved  him  as  a  father; 
beholden  to  these  good  people  who  dwelt  in  a  world  into 
which  she  had  no  reasonable  expectations  of  entering,  and 
which,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  now  feared. 

It  was  inevitable  that  Cynthia  should  be  brought  into 


CYNTHIA  LEAKNS  HOW  TO  BE  FASHIONABLE    323 

contact  with  many  friends  and  relations  of  the  family. 
Some  of  these  noticed  and  admired  her;  others  did  neither; 
others  gossiped  about  Mrs.  Merrill  behind  her  back  at  her 
own  dinners  and  sewing  circles  and  wondered  what  folly 
could  have  induced  her  to  bring  the  girl  into  her  house. 
But  Mrs.  Merrill,  like  many  generous  people  who  do  not 
stop  to  calculate  a  kindness,  was  always  severely  criti 
cised. 

And  then  there  were  Jane's  and  Susan's  friends,  in  and 
out  of  Miss  Sadler's  school.  For  Mrs.  Merrill's  influence 
had  been  sufficient  to  induce  Miss  Sadler  to  take  Cynthia 
as  a  day  scholar  with  her  own  daughters.  This,  be  it 
known,  was  a  great  concession  on  the  part  of  Miss  Sadler, 
who  regarded  Cynthia's  credentials  as  dubious  enough; 
and  her  young  ladies  were  inclined  to  regard  them  so, 
likewise.  Some  of  these  young  ladies  came  from  other 
cities,  —  New  York  and  Philadelphia  and  elsewhere, — and 
their  fathers  and  mothers  were  usually  people  to  be  men 
tioned  as  a  matter  of  course  —  were,  indeed,  frequently  so 
mentioned  by  Miss  Sadler,  especially  when  a  visitor  called 
at  the  school. 

"  Isabel,  I  saw  that  your  mother  sailed  for  Europe  yes 
terday,"  or,  "  Sally,  your  father  tells  me  he  is  building  a 
gallery  for  his  collection."  Then  to  the  visitor,  "  You 
know  the  Broke  house  in  Washington  Square,  of  course." 

Of  course  the  visitor  did.  But  Sally  or  Isabel  would 
often  imitate  Miss  Sadler  behind  her  back,  showing  how 
well  they  understood  her  snobbishness. 

Miss  Sadler  was  by  no  means  the  type  which  we  have 
come  to  recognize  in  the  cartoons  as  the  Boston  school- 
ma'am.  She  was  a  little,  round  person  with  thin  lips  and 
a  sharp  nose  all  out  of  character  with  her  roundness,  and 
bright  eyes  like  a  bird's.  To  do  her  justice,  so  far  as  in 
struction  went,  her  scholars  were  equally  well  cared  for, 
whether  they  hailed  from  Washington  Square  or  Washing 
ton  Court  House.  There  were,  indeed,  none  from  such  rural 
sorts  of  places  —  except  Cynthia.  Bat  Miss  Sadler  did 
not  take  her  hand  on  the  opening  day  —  or  afterward  — 
and  ask  her  about  Uncle  Jethro.  Oh,  no.  Miss  Sadler 


v>    s 


If} 


324 


CYNTHIA  LEARNS  HOW  TO  BE  FASHIONABLE    325 

had  no  interest  for  great  men  who  did  not  sail  for  Europe 
or  add  picture  galleries  on  to  their  houses.  Cynthia 
laughed,  a  little  bitterly,  perhaps,  at  the  thought  of  a  pic 
ture  gallery  being  added  to  the  tannery  house.  And  she 
told  herself  stoutly  that  Uncle  Jethro  was  a  greater  man 
than  any  of  the  others,  even  if  Miss  Sadler  did  not  see  fit 
to  mention  him.  So  she  had  her  first  taste  of  a  kind  of 
wormwood  that  is  very  common  in  the  world,  though  it 
did  not  grow  in  Coniston. 

For  a  while  after  Cynthia's  introduction  to  the  school 
she  was  calmly  ignored  by  many  of  the  young  ladies  there, 
and  once  openly  —  snubbed,  to  use  the  word  in  its  most 
disagreeable  sense.  Not  that  she  gave  any  of  them  any 
real  cause  to  snub  her.  She  did  not  intrude  her  own 
affairs  upon  them,  but  she  was  used  to  conversing  kindly 
with  the  people  about  her  as  equals,  and  for  this  offence,  on 
the  third  day,  Miss  Sally  Broke  snubbed  her.  It  is  hard 
not  to  make  a  heroine  of  Cynthia,  not  to  be  able  to  relate 
that  she  instantly  put  Miss  Sally's  nose  out  of  joint. 
Susan  Merrill  tried  to  do  that,  and  failed  signally,  for  Miss 
Sally's  nose  was  not  easily  dislodged.  Susan  fought  more 
than  one  of  Cynthia's  battles.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Cyn 
thia  did  not  know  that  she  had  been  affronted  until  that 
evening.  She  did  not  tell  her  friends  how  she  spent  the 
night  yearning  fiercely  for  Coniston  and  Uncle  Jethro, 
at  times  weeping  for  them,  if  the  truth  be  told;  how  she 
had  risen  before  the  dawn  to  write  a  letter,  and  to  lay 
some  things  in  the  rawhide  trunk.  The  letter  was  never 
sent,  and  the  packing  never  finished.  Uncle  Jethro  wished 
her  to  stay  and  to  learn  to  be  a  lady,  and  stay  she  would, 
in  spite  of  Miss  Broke  and  the  rest  of  them.  She  went  to 
school  the  next  day,  and  for  many  days  and  weeks  there 
after,  and  held  communion  with  the  few  alone  who  chose 
to  treat  her  pleasantly.  Unquestionably  this  is  making 
a  heroine  of  Cynthia. 

If  young  men  are  cruel  in  their  schools,  what  shall  be 
written  of  young  women  ?  It  would  be  better  to  say  that 
both  are  thoughtless.  Miss  Sally  Broke,  strange  as  it 
may  seem,  had  a  heart,  and  many  of  the  other  young 


326  CONISTON 

ladies  whose  fathers  sailed  for  Europe  and  owned  picture 
galleries  ;  but  these  young  ladies  were  absorbed,  especially 
after  vacation,  in  affairs  of  which  a  girl  from  Coniston 
had  no  part.  Their  friends  were  not  her  friends,  their 
amusements  not  her  amusements,  and  their  talk  not  her 
talk.  But  Cynthia  watched  them,  as  was  her  duty,  and 
gradually  absorbed  many  things  which  are  useful  if  not 
essential  —  outward  observances  of  which  the  world  takes 
cognizance,  and  which  she  had  been  sent  there  by  Uncle 
Jethro  to  learn.  Young  people  of  Cynthia's  type  and 
nationality  are  the  most  adaptable  in  the  world. 

Before  the  December  snows  set  in  Cynthia  had  made 
one  firm  friend,  at  least,  in  Boston,  outside  of  the  Merrill 
family.  That  friend  was  Miss  Lucretia  Penniman,  edi 
tress  of  the  Woman's  Hour.  Miss  Lucretia  lived  in  the 
queerest  and  quaintest  of  the  little  houses  tucked  away 
under  the  hill,  with  the  back  door  a  story  higher  than  the 
front,  an  arrangement  which  in  summer  enabled  the 
mistress  to  walk  out  of  her  sitting-room  windows  into  a 
little  walled  garden.  In  winter  that  sitting  room  was  the 
sunniest,  cosiest  room  in  the  city,  and  Cynthia  spent 
many  hours  there,  reading  or  listening  to  the  wisdom  that 
fell  from  the  lips  of  Miss  Lucretia  or  her  guests.  The 
sitting  room  had  uneven,  yellow-whits  panelling  that 
fairly  shone  with  enamel,  mahogany  bookcases  filled 
with  authors  who  had  chosen  to  comply  with  Miss  Lu- 
cretia's  somewhat  rigorous  censorship ;  there  was  a  table 
laden  with  such  magazines  as  had  to  do  with  the  up 
lifting  of  a  sex,  a  delightful  wavy  floor  covered  with  a 
rose  carpet  ;  and,  needless  to  add,  not  a  pin  or  a  pair  of 
scissors  out  of  place  in  the  whole  apartment. 

There  is  no  intention  of  enriching  these  pages  with 
Miss  Lucretia's  homilies.  Their  subject-matter  may 'be 
found  in  the  files  of  the  Woman's  Hour.  She  did  not 
always  preach,  although  many  people  will  not  believe  this 
statement.  Miss  Lucretia,  too,  had  a  heart,  though  she 
kept  it  hidden  away,  only  to  be  brought  out  on  occasions 
when  she  was  sure  of  its  appreciation,  and  she  grew 
strangely  interested  in  this  self-contained  girl  from  Con- 


CYNTHIA  LEARNS  HOW  TO  BE  FASHIONABLE    327 

iston  whose  mother  she  had  known.  Miss  Lucretia 
understood  Cynthia,  who  also  was  the  kind  who  kept 
her  heart  hidden,  the  kind  who  conceal  their  troubles  and 
sufferings  because  they  find  it  difficult  to  give  them  out. 
So  Miss  Lucretia  had  Cynthia  to  take  supper  with  her  at 
least  once  in  the  week,  and  watched  her  quietly,  and  let 
her  speak  of  as  much  of  her  life  as  she  chose  —  which  was 
not  much,  at  first.  But  Miss  Lucre^ia  was  content  to 
wait,  and  guessed  at  many  things  which  Cynthia  did  not 
tell  her,  and  made  some  personal  effort,  unknown  to  Cyn 
thia,  to  find  out  other  things.  It  will  be  said  that  she 
had  designs  on  the  girl.  If  so,  they  were  generous 
designs;  and  perhaps  it  was  inevitable  that  Miss  Lucretia 
should  recognize  in  every  young  woman  of  spirit  and 
brains  a  possible  recruit  for  the  cause. 

It  has  now  been  shown  in  some  manner  and  as  briefly 
as  possible  how  Cynthia's  life  had  changed,  and  what  it 
had  become.  We  have  got  her  partly  through  the  win 
ter,  and  find  her  still  dreaming  of  the  sparkling  snow 
on  Coniston  and  of  the  wind  whirling  it  on  clear,  cold 
days  like  smoke  among  the  spruces ;  of  Uncle  Jethro 
sitting  by  his  stove  through  the  long  evenings  all  alone  ; 
of  Bias  in  his  store  and  Moses  Hatch  and  Lem  Hallowell, 
and  Cousin  Ephraim  in  his  new  post-office.  Uncle  Jethro 
wrote  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  —  letters  :  short  letters, 
but  in  his  own  handwriting,  and  deserving  of  being  read 
for  curiosity's  sake  if  there  were  time.  The  wording  was 
queer  enough  and  guarded  enough,  but  they  were  charged 
with  a  great  affection  which  clung  to  them  like  lavender. 
And  Cynthia  kept  them  every  one,  and  read  them  over 
on  such  occasions  when  she  felt  that  she  could  not  live 
another  minute  out  of  sight  of  her  mountain. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  one  gray  afternoon  in 
December  when  Cynthia,  who  was  sitting  in  Mrs.  Merrill's 
parlor,  suddenly  looked  up  from  her  book  to  discover  that 
two  young  men  were  in  the  room.  The  young  men  were 
apparently  quite  as  much  surprised  as  she,  and  the  parlor 
maid  stood  grinning  behind  them. 

"  Tell  Miss  Susan  and  Miss  Jane,  Ellen,"  said  Cynthia, 


328  CONISTON 

preparing  to  depart.  One  of  the  young  men  she  recog 
nized  from  a  photograph  on  Susan's  bureau.  He  was,  for 
the  time  being,  Susan's.  His  name,  although  it  does  not 
matter  much,  was  Morton  Browne,  and  he  would  have 
been  considerably  astonished  if  he  had  guessed  how  much 
of  his  history  Cynthia  knew.  It  was  Mr.  Browne's  habit 
to  take  Susan  for  a  walk  as  often  as  propriety  permitted, 
and  on  such  occasions  he  generally  brought  along  a  good- 
natured  classmate  to  take  care  of  Jane.  This,  apparently, 
was  one  of  the  occasions.  Mr.  Browne  was  tall  and  dark 
aud  generally  good-looking,  while  his  friends  were  usually 
distinguished  for  their  good  nature.  Mr.  Browne  stood 
between  her  and  the  door  and  looked  at  her  rather  fixedly. 
Then  he  said  :  — 

"Excuse  me.'1 

A  great  many  friendships,  and  even  love  affairs,  have 
been  inaugurated  by  just  such  an  opening. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Cynthia,  and  tried  to  pass  out.  But 
Mr.  Browne  had  no  intention  of  allowing  her  to  do  so  if 
he  could  help  it. 

"  1  hope  I  am  not  intruding,"  he  said  politely. 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  Cynthia,  wondering  how  she  could 
get  by  him. 

"  Were  you  waiting  for  Miss  Merrill  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Cynthia  again. 

The  other  young  rnan  turned  his  back  and  became 
absorbed  in  the  picture  of  a  lion  getting  ready  to  tear 
a  lady  to  pieces.  But  Mr.  Browne  was  of  that  mettle 
which  is  not  easily  baffled  in  such  matters.  He  intro 
duced  himself,  and  desired  to  know  whom  he  had  the 
honor  of  addressing.  Cynthia  could  not  but  enlighten 
him.  Mr.  Browne  was  greatly  astonished,  and  showed  it. 

"  So  you  are  the  mysterious  young  lady  who  has  been 
staying  here  in  the  house  this  winter,"  he  exclaimed,  as 
though  it  were  a  marvellous  thing.  "  I  have  heard  Miss 
Merrill  speak  of  you.  She  admires  you  very  much.  Is 
it  true  that  you  come  from  —  Coniston  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"Let  me  see  —  where  is  Coniston?"  inquired  Mr. 
Browne. 


CYNTHIA  LEARNS  HOW  TO  BE  FASHIONABLE    329 

"  Do  you  know  where  Brampton  is  ?  "  asked  Cynthia. 
"  Coniston  is  near  Brampton." 

"  Brampton  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Browne,  "  I  have  a  class 
mate  who  comes  from  Brampton  —  Bob  Worthington. 
You  must  know  Bob,  then." 

Yes,  Cynthia  knew  Mr.  Worthington. 

"  His  father's  got  a  mint  of  money,  they  say.  I've  been 
told  that  old  Worthington  was  the  whole  show  up  in  those 
parts.  Is  that  true  ?  " 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Cynthia. 

Not  quite  !  Mr.  Morton  Browne  eyed  her  in  surprise, 
and  from  that  moment  she  began  to  have  decided  possi 
bilities.  Just  then  Jane  and  Susan  entered  arrayed  for 
the  walk,  but  Mr.  Browne  showed  himself  in  no  hurry  to 
depart :  began  to  speak,  indeed,  in  a  deprecating  way 
about  the  weather,  appealed  to  his  friend,  Mr.  King,  if  it 
didn't  look  remarkably  like  rain,  or  hail,  or  snow.  Susan 
sat  down,  Jane  sat  down,  Mr.  Browne  and  his  friend 
prepared  to  sit  down  when  Cynthia  moved  toward  the 
door. 

"  You're  not  going,  Cynthia !  "  cried  Susan,  in  a  voice 
that  may  have  had  a  little  too  much  eagerness  in  it.  "  You 
must  stay  arid  help  us  entertain  Mr.  Browne."  (Mr. 
King,  apparently,  was  not  to  be  entertained.)  "We've 
tried  so  hard  to  make  her  come  down  when  people  called, 
Mr.  Browne,  but  she  never  wouiu. ' 

Cynthia  was  not  skilled  in  the  art  of  making  excuses. 
She  hesitated  for  one,  and  was  lost.  So  she  sat  down,  as 
far  from  Mr.  Browne  as  possible,  next  to  Jane.  In  a  few 
minutes  Mr.  Browne  was  seated  beside  her,  and  how  he 
accomplished  this  manoeuvre  Cynthia  could  not  have  said, 
so  skilfully  and  gradually  was  it  done.  For  lack  of  a 
better  subject  he  chose  Mr.  Robert  Worthington.  Related, 
for  Cynthia's  delectation,  several  of  Bob's  escapades  in  his 
freshman  year :  silly  escapades  enough,  but  very  bold  and 
daring  and  original  they  sounded  to  Cynthia,  who  listened 
(if  Mr.  Browne  could  have  known  it)  with  almost  breath 
less  interest,  and  forgot  all  about  poor  Susan  talking  to 
Mr.  King.  Did  Mr.  Worthington  still  while  away  his 


330  CONISTON 

evenings  stealing  barber  poles  and  being  chased  around 
Cambridge  by  irate  policemen  ?  Mr.  Browne  laughed  at 
the  notion.  O  dear,  no  !  seniors  never  descended  to  that. 
Had  not  Miss  Wetherell  heard  the  song  wherein  seniors 
were  designated  as  grave  and  reverend?  Yes,  Miss  Weth 
erell  had  heard  the  song.  She  did  not  say  where,  or  how. 
Mr.  Worthington,  said  his  classmate,  had  become  very 
serious-minded  this  year.  Was  captain  of  the  base-ball 
team  and  already  looking  toward  the  study  of  law. 

"  Study  law !  "  exclaimed  Cynthia,  "  I  thought  he  would 
go  into  his  father's  mills." 

"  Do  you  know  Bob  very  well?"  asked  Mr.  Browne. 

She  admitted  that  she  did  not. 

"  He's  been  away  from  Brampton  a  good  deal,  of  course," 
said  Mr.  Browne,  who  seemed  pleased  by  her  admission. 
To  do  him  justice,  he  would  not  undermine  a  classmate, 
although  he  had  other  rules  of  conduct  which  might  eventu 
ally  require  a  little  straightening  out.  "Worthy's  a  first- 
rate  fellow,  a  little  quick-tempered,  perhaps,  and  inclined 
to  go  his  own  way.  He's  got  a  good  mind,  and  he's  taken 
to  using  it  lately.  He  has  come  pretty  near  being  sus 
pended  once  or  twice." 

Cynthia  wanted  to  ask  what  "  suspended  "  was.  It 
sounded  rather  painful.  But  at  this  instant  there  was  the 
rattle  of  a  latch  key  at  the  door,  and  Mr.  Merrill  walked 
in. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  spying  Cynthia,  "  so  you  have 
got  Cynthia  to  come  down  and  entertain  the  young  men 
at  last." 

"  Yes,"  said  Susan,  "  we  have  got  Cynthia  to  come  down 
at  last." 

Susan  did  not  go  to  Cynthia's  room  that  night  to  chat, 
as  usual,  and  Mr.  Morton  Browne's  photograph  was  mys 
teriously  removed  from  the  prominent  position  it  had 
occupied.  If  Susan  had  carried  out  a  plan  which  she 
conceived  in  a  moment  of  folly  of  placing  that  photo 
graph  on  Cynthia's  bureau,  there  would  undoubtedly  have 
been  a  quarrel.  Cynthia's  own  feelings  —  seeing  that 
Mr.  Browne  had  not  dazzled  her  —  were  not  enviable. 


CYNTHIA  LEAKNS  HOW  TO  BE  FASHIONABLE    331 

But  she  held  her  peace,  which  indeed  was  all  she  could  do, 
and  the  next  time  Mr.  Browne  called,  though  he  took  care 
to  mention  her  name  particularly  at  the  door,  she  would 
not  go  down  to  entertain  him  :  though  Susan  implored 
and  Jane  appealed,  she  would  not  go  down.  Mr.  Browne 
called  several  times  again,  with  the  same  result.  Cynthia 
was  inexorable  —  she  would  have  none  of  him.  Then 
Susan  forgave  her.  There  was  no  quarrel,  indeed,  but 
there  was  a  reconciliation,  which  is  the  best  part  of  a 
quarrel.  There  were  tears,  of  Susan's  shedding;  there 
was  a  character-sketch  of  Mr.  Browne,  of  Susan's  drawing, 
and  that  gentleman  flitted  lightly  out  of  Susan's  life. 

Some  ten  days  subsequent  to  this  reconciliation  Ellen, 
the  parlor  maid,  brought  up  a  card  to  Cynthia's  room. 
The  card  bore  the  name  of  Mr.  Robert  Worthington. 
Cynthia  stared  at  it,  and  bent  it  in  her  fingers,  while  Ellen 
explained  how  the  gentleman  had  begged  that  she  might 
see  him.  To  tell  the  truth,  Cynthia  had  wondered  more 
than  once  why  he  had  not  come  before,  and  smiled  when 
she  thought  of  all  the  assurances  of  undying  devotion  she 
had  heard  in  Washington.  After  all,  she  reflected,  why 
should  she  not  see  him  —  once  ?  He  might  give  her  news 
of  Brampton  and  Coniston.  Thus  willingly  deceiving 
herself,  she  told  Ellen  that  she  would  go  down :  much  to 
the  girl's  delight,  for  Cynthia  was  a  favorite  in  the  house. 

As  she  entered  the  parlor  Mr.  Worthington  was  stand 
ing  in  the  window.  When  he  turned  and  saw  her  he 
started  to  come  forward  in  his  old  impetuous  way,  and 
stopped  and  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  She  herself  did 
not  grasp  the  reason  for  this. 

"  Can  it  be  possible,"  he  said,  "  can  it  be  possible  that 
this  is  my  friend  from  the  country?  "  And  he  took  her 
hand  with  the  greatest  formality,  pressed  it  the  least 
little  bit,  and  released  it.  "  How  do  you  do,  Miss 
Wetherell  ?  Do  you  remember  me  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  do  —  Bob,"  she  answered,  laughing  in 
spite  of  herself  at  his  banter.  "  You  haven't  changed, 
anyway." 

"  It  was  Mr.    Worthington  in  Washington,"  said    he. 


332  CONISTON 

"  Now  it  is  '  Bob '  and '  Miss  Wetherell.'  Rank  patronage ! 
How  did  you  do  it,  Cynthia  ?  " 

"  You  are  like  all  men,"  said  Cynthia,  "  you  look  at  the 
clothes,  and  not  the  woman.  They  are  not  very  fine 
clothes;  but  if  they  were  much  finer,  they  wouldn't 
change  me." 

"Then  it  must  be  Miss  Sadler." 

"  Miss  Sadler  would  willingly  change  me  —  if  she 
could,"  said  Cynthia,  a  little  bitterly.  "  How  did  you 
find  out  I  was  at  Miss  Sadler's  ?  " 

"  Morton  Browne  told  me  yesterday,"  said  Bob.  "  I  felt 
like  punching  his  head." 

"  What  did  he  tell  you  ?  "  she  asked  with  some  concern. 

"  He  said  that  you  were  here,  visiting  the  Menills, 
among  other  things,  and  said  that  you  knew  me." 

The  "  other  things  "  Mr.  Browne  had  said  were  interest 
ing,  but  flippant.  He  had  seen  Bob  at  a  college  club  and 
declared  that  he  had  met  a  witch  of  a  country  girl  at  the 
Merrills.  He  couldn't  make  her  out,  because  she  had 
refused  to  see  him  every  time  he  called  again.  He  had 
also  repeated  Cynthia's  remark  about  Bob's  father  not 
being  quite  the  biggest  man  in  his  part  of  the  country, 
and  ventured  the  surmise  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a 
rival  mill  owner. 

"  Why  didn't  you  let  me  know  you  were  in  Boston  ?  " 
said  Bob,  reproachfully. 

"  Why  should  I  ? "  asked  Cynthia,  and  she  could  not 
resist  adding,  "  Didn't  you  find  it  out  when  you  went  to 
Brampton  —  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  he,  getting  fiery  red,  "  the  fact  is  —  I 
didn't  go  to  Brampton." 

"  I'm  glad  you  were  sensible  enough  to  take  my  advice, 
though  I  suppose  that  didn't  make  any  difference.  But 
—  from  the  way  you  spoke,  I  should  have  thought  noth 
ing  could  have  kept  you  away." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  Bob,  "  I'd  promised  to 
visit  a  fellow  named  Broke  in  my  class,  who  lives  in  New 
York.  And  I  couldn't  get  out  of  it.  His  sister,  by  the 
way,  is  in  Miss  Sadler's.  I  suppose  you  know  her.  But 


CYNTHIA  LEABNS  HOW  TO  BE  FASHIONABLE    333 

if  I'd  thought  you'd  see  me,  I  should  have  gone  to  Bramp- 
ton,  anyway.  You  were  so  down  on  me  in  Washington." 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  take  the  trouble  to  come 
to  see  me  here.  There  must  be  a  great  many  girls  in 
Boston  you  have  to  visit." 

He  caught  the  little  note  of  coolness  in  her  voice. 
Cynthia  was  asking  herself  whether,  if  Mr.  Browne  had 
not  seen  fit  to  give  a  good  report  of  her,  he  would  have 
come  at  all.  He  would  have  come,  certainly.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  Bob  Worthington's  attitude  up  to  this  time 
toward  Cynthia  has  been  sufficiently  defined  by  his  con 
versation  and  actions.  There  had  been  nothing  serious 
about  it.  But  there  can  be  no  question  that  Mr.  Browne's 
openly  expressed  admiration  had  enhanced  her  value  in 
his  eyes. 

"  There's  no  girl  in  Boston  that  I  care  a  rap  for,"  he 
said. 

"  I'm  relieved  to  hear  it,"  said  Cynthia,  with  feeling. 

"  Are  you  really  ?  " 

"  Didn't  you  expect  me  to  be,  when  you  said  it  ?  " 

He  laughed  uncomfortably. 

"  You've  learned  more  than  one  thing  since  you've  been 
in  the  city,"  he  remarked,  "I  suppose  there  are  a  good 
many  fellows  who  come  here  all  the  time." 

"  Yes,  there  are,"  she  said  demurely. 

"  Well,"  he  remarked,  "  you've  changed  a  lot  in  three 
months.  I  always  thought  that,  if  you  had  a  chance, 
there'd  be  no  telling  where  you'd  end  up." 

"That  doesn't  sound  very  complimentary,"  said  Cynthia. 
She  had,  indeed,  changed.  "  In  what  terrible  place  do 
you  think  I'll  end  up  ?  " 

"I  suppose  you'll  marry  one  of  these  Boston  men." 

"  Oh,"  she  laughed,  "  that  wouldn't  be  so  terrible, 
would  it  ?  " 

"  I  believe  you're  engaged  to  one  of  'em  now,"  he 
remarked,  looking  very  hard  at  her. 

"  If  you  believed  that,  I  don't  think  you  would  say  it," 
she  answered. 

"  I  can't  make  you  out.     You  used  to  be  so  frank  with 


334  CONISTON 

me,  and  now  you're  not  at  all  so.  Are  you  going  to 
Coniston  for  the  holidays  ?  " 

Her  face  fell  at  the  question. 

"  Oh,  Bob,"  she  cried,  surprising  him  utterly  hy  a  glimpse 
of  the  real  Cynthia,  "  I  wish  I  were  —  I  wish  I  were  I 
But  I  don't  dare  to." 

"  Don't  dare  to  ?  " 

"  If  I  went,  I  should  never  come  back  —  never.  I 
should  stay  with  Uncle  Jethro.  He's  so  lonesome  up 
there,  and  I'm  so  lonesome  down  here,  without  him.  And 
I  promised  him  faithfully  I'd  stay  a  whole  winter  at 
school  in  Boston." 

"  Cynthia,"  said  Bob,  in  a  strange  voice  as  he  leaned 
toward  her,  "  do  you  —  do  you  care  for  him  as  much  as 
all  that  ?  " 

"  Care  for  him  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Care  for  —  for  Uncle  Jethro  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  care  for  him,"  she  cried,  her  eyes  flashing 
at  the  thought.  "  I  love  him  better  than  anybody  in  the 
world.  Certainly  no  one  ever  had  better  reason  to  care 
for  a  person.  My  father  failed  when  he  came  to  Coniston 
—  he  was  not  meant  for  business,  and  Uncle  Jethro  took 
care  of  him  all  his  life,  and  paid  his  debts.  And  he  has 
taken  care  of  me  and  given  me  everything  that  a  girl 
could  wish.  Very  few  people  know  what  a  fine  character 
Uncle  Jethro  has,"  continued  Cynthia,  carried  away  as 
she  was  by  the  pent-up  flood  of  feeling  within  her.  "  I 
know  what  he  has  done  for  others,  and  I  should  love  him 
for  that  even  if  he  never  had  done  anything  for  me." 

Bob  was  silent.  He  was,  in  the  first  place,  utterly 
amazed  at  this  outburst,  revealing  as  it  did  a  depth  of 
passionate  feeling  in  the  girl  which  he  had  never  suspected, 
and  which  thrilled  him.  It  was  unlike  her,  for  she  was 
usually  so  self-repressed ;  and,  being  unlike  her,  accentu 
ated  both  sides  of  her  character  the  more. 

But  what  was  he  to  say  of  the  defence  of  Jethro  Bass? 
Bob  was  not  a  young  man  who  had  pondered  much  over 
the  problems  of  life,  because  these  problems  had  hitherto 
never  touched  him.  But  now  he  began  to  perceive,  dimly, 


CYNTHIA  LEARNS  HOW  TO  BE  FASHIONABLE    335 

things  that  might  become  the  elements  of  a  tragedy,  even 
as  Mr.  Merrill  had  perceived  them  some  months  before. 
Could  a  union  endure  between  so  delicate  a  creature  as  the 
girl  before  him  and  Jethro  Bass  ?  Could  Cynthia  ever  go 
back  to  him  again,  and  live  with  him  happily,  without  see 
ing  many  things  which  before  were  hidden  by  reason  of 
her  youth  and  innocence? 

Bob  had  not  been  nearly  four  years  at  college  without 
learning  something  of  the  world ;  and  it  had  not  needed 
the  lecture  from  his  father,  which  he  got  upon  leaving 
Washington,  to  inform  him  of  Jethro's  political  practices. 
He  had  argued  soundly  with  his  father  on  that  occasion, 
having  the  courage  to  ask  Mr.  Worthington  in  effect 
whether  he  did  not  sanction  his  underlings  to  use  the 
same  tools  as  Jethro  used.  Mr.  Worthington  was  right 
eously  angry,  and  declared  that  Jethro  had  inaugurated 
those  practices  in  the  state,  and  had  to  be  fought  with  his 
own  weapons.  But  Mr.  Worthington  had  had  the  sense 
at  that  time  not  to  mention  Cynthia's  name.  He  hoped 
and  believed  that  that  affair  was  not  serious,  and  merely 
a  boyish  fancy  —  as  indeed  it  was. 

It  remains  to  be  said,  however,  that  the  lecture  had  not 
been  without  its  effect  upon  Bob.  Jethro  Bass,  after  all, 
was — Jethro  Bass.  All  his  life  Bob  had  heard  him  famil 
iarly  and  jokingly  spoken  of  as  the  boss  of  the  state,  and 
had  listened  to  the  tales,  current  in  all  the  country  towns, 
of  how  Jethro  had  outwitted  this  man  or  that.  Some  of  them 
were  not  refined  tales.  Jethro  Bass  as  the  boss  of  the 
state  —  with  the  tolerance  with  which  the  public  in  gen 
eral  regard  politics  —  was  one  thing.  Bob  was  willing  to 
call  him  "  Uncle  Jethro,"  admire  his  great  strength  and 
shrewdness,  and  declare  that  the  men  he  had  outwitted 
had  richly  deserved  it.  But  Jethro  Bass  as  the  ward  of 
Cynthia  Wetherell  was  quite  another  thing. 

It  was  not  only  that  Cynthia  had  suddenly  and  inevita 
bly  become  a  lady.  That  would  not  have  mattered,  for 
such  as  she  would  have  borne  Coniston  and  the  life  of 
Coniston  cheerfully.  But  Bob  reflected,  as  he  walked 
back  to  his  rooms  in  the  dark  through  the  snow-laden 


336  CONISTON 

streets,  that  Cynthia,  young  though  she  might  be,  pos 
sessed  principles  from  which  no  love  would  sway  her  a 
hair's  breadth.  How,  indeed,  was  she  to  live  with  Jethro 
once  her  eyes  were  opened? 

The  thought  made  him  angry,  but  returned  to  him  per 
sistently  during  the  days  that  followed,  —  in  the  lecture 
room,  in  the  gymnasium,  in  his  own  study,  where  he  spent 
more  time  than  formerly.  By  these  tokens  it  will  be  per 
ceived  that  Bob,  too,  had  changed  a  little.  And  the  sight 
of  Cynthia  in  Mrs.  Merrill's  parlor  had  set  him  to  think 
ing  in  a  very  different  manner  than  the  sight  of  her  in 
Washington  had  affected  him. 

Bob  had  managed  to  shift  the  subject  from  Jethro,  not 
without  an  effort,  though  he  had  done  it  in  that  merry, 
careless  manner  which  was  so  characteristic  of  him.  He 
had  talked  of  many  things,  —  his  college  life,  his  friends, 
—  and  laughed  at  her  questions  about  his  freshman  esca 
pades.  But  when  at  length,  at  twilight,  he  had  risen  to  go, 
he  had  taken  both  her  hands  and  looked  down  into  her 
face  with  a  very  different  expression  than  she  had  seen 
him  wear  before  —  a  much  more  serious  expression,  which 
puzzled  her.  It  was  not  the  look  of  a  lover,  nor  yet  that 
of  a  man  who  imagines  himself  in  love.  With  either  of 
these  her  instinct  would  have  told  her  how  to  deal.  It 
was  more  the  look  of  a  friend,  with  much  of  the  masculine 
spirit  of  protection  in  it. 

"May  I  come  to  see  you  again?  "  he  asked. 

Gently  she  released  her  hands,  and  she  did  not  answer 
at  onoe.  She  went  to  the  window,  and  stared  across  the 
sloping  street  at  the  grilled  railing  before  the  big  house 
opposite,  thinking.  Her  reason  told  her  that  he  should 
not  come,  but  her  spirit  rebelled  against  that  reason.  It 
was  a  pleasure  to  see  him,  so  she  freely  admitted  to  her 
self.  Why  should  she  not  have  that  pleasure?  If  the 
truth  be  told,  she  had  argued  it  all  out  before,  when  she 
had  wondered  whether  he  would  come.  Mrs.  Merrill, 
she  thought,  would  not  object  to  his  coming.  But — there 
was  the  question  she  had  meant  to  ask  him. 

"  Bob,"  she  said,  turning  to  him,  "  Bob,  would  your 
father  want  you  to  come?  " 


CYNTHIA  LEARNS  HOW  TO  BE  FASHIONABLE    337 

It  was  growing  dark,  and  she  could  scarcely  see  his 
face.  He  hesitated,  but  he  did  not  attempt  to  evade  the 
question. 

"  No,  he  would  not,"  he  answered.  And  added,  with  a 
good  deal  of  force  and  dignity :  "  I  am  of  age,  and  can 
choose  my  own  friends.  I  am  my  own  master.  If  he 
knew  you  as  I  knew  you,  he  would  look  at  the  matter  in 
a  different  light." 

Cynthia  felt  that  this  was  not  quite  true.  She  smiled 
a  little  sadly. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  don't  know  me  very  well,  Bob."  He 
was  about  to  protest,  but  she  went  on,  bravely,  "  Is  it 
because  he  has  quarrelled  with  Uncle  Jethro?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Bob.  She  was  making  it  terribly  hard  for 
him,  sparing  indeed  neither  herself  nor  him. 

"  If  you  come  here  to  see  me,  it  will  cause  a  quarrel 
between  you  and  your  father.  I  —  I  cannot  do  that." 

"  There  is  nothing  wrong  in  my  seeing  you,"  said  Bob, 
stoutly ;  "  if  he  cares  to  quarrel  with  me  for  that,  I  cannot 
help  it.  If  the  people  I  choose  for  my  friends  are  good 
people,  he  has  no  right  to  an  objection,  even  though  he  is 
my  father." 

Cynthia  had  never  come  so  near  real  admiration  for  him 
as  at  that  moment. 

"  No,  Bob,  you  must  not  come,"  she  said.  "  I  will  not 
have  you  quarrel  with  him  on  my  account." 

"  Then  I  will  quarrel  with  him  on  my  own  account," 
he  had  answered.  "  Good-by.  You  may  expect  me  this 
day  week.'' 

He  went  into  the  hall  to  put  on  his  overcoat.  Cynthia 
stood  still  on  the  spot  of  the  carpet  where  he  had  left  her. 
He  put  his  head  in  at  the  door. 

"  This  day  week,"  he  said. 

"  Bob,  you  must  not  come,"  she  answered.  But  the 
street  door  closed  after  him  as  he  spoke. 


CHAPTER   IX 

IN   WHICH   ME.    MERRILL   ABANDONS    A    HABIT 

"You  must  not  come."  Had  Cynthia  made  the  prohi 
bition  strong  enough  ?  Ought  she  not  to  have  said,  "  If 
you  do  come,  I  will  not  see  you  "  ?  Her  knowledge  of  the 
motives  of  the  men  and  women  in  the  greater  world 
was  largely  confined  to  that  which  she  had  gathered  from 
novels  —  not  trashy  novels,  but  those  by  standard  authors 
of  English  life.  And  many  another  girl  of  nineteen  has 
taken  a  novel  for  a  guide  when -she  has  been  suddenly  con 
fronted  with  the  first  great  problem  outside  of  her  experi 
ence.  Somebody  has  declared  that  there  are  only  seven 
plots  in  the  world.  There  are  many  parallels  in  English 
literature  to  Cynthia's  position,  —  so  far  as  she  was  able  to 
define  that  position,  —  the  wealthy  young  peer,  the  par 
son's  or  physician's  daughter,  and  the  worldly,  inexorable 
parents  who  had  other  plans. 

Cynthia  was,  of  course,  foolish.  She  would  not  look 
ahead,  yet  there  was  the  mirage  in  the  sky  when  she  al 
lowed  herself  to  dream.  It  can  truthfully  be  said  that 
she  was  not  in  love  with  Bob  Worthington.  She  felt, 
rather  than  knew,  that  if  love  came  to  her  the  feeling  she 
had  for  Jethro  Bass  —  strong  though  that  was  —  would 
be  as  nothing  to  it.  The  girl  felt  the  intensity  of  her 
nature,  and  shrank  from  it  when  her  thoughts  ran  that 
way,  for  it  frightened  her. 

"  Mrs.  Merrill,"  she  said,  a  few  days  later,  when  she 
found  herself  alone  with  that  lady,  "you  once  told  me  you 
would  have  no  objection  if  a  friend  came  to  see  me  here." 

"  None  whatever,  my  dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Merrill.  "  I 
have  asked  you  to  have  your  friends  here." 

338 


MR.  MERRILL  ABANDONS  A  HABIT          339 

Mrs.  Merrill  knew  that  a  young  man  had  called  on 
Cynthia.  The  girls  had  discussed  the  event  excitedly, 
had  teased  Cynthia  about  it ;  they  had  discovered,  more 
over,  that  the  young  man  had  not  been  a  tiller  of  the  soil 
or  a  clerk  in  a  country  store.  Ellen,  with  the  enthusiasm 
of  her  race,  had  painted  him  in  glowing  colors  —  but  she 
had  neglected  to  read  the  name  on  his  card. 

"  Bob  Worthington  came  to  see  me  last  week,  and  he 
wants  to  come  again.  He  lives  in  Brampton,"  Cynthia 
explained,  "and  is  at  Harvard  College." 

Mrs.  Merrill  was  decidedly  surprised.  She  went  on 
with  her  sewing,  however,  and  did  not  betray  the  fact. 
She  knew  of  Dudley  Worthington  as  one  of  the  richest 
and  most  important  men  in  his  state ;  she  had  heard  her 
husband  speak  of  him  often ;  but  she  had  never  meddled 
with  politics  and  railroad  affairs. 

"  By  all  means  let  him  come,  Cynthia,"  she  replied. 

When  Mr.  Merrill  got  home  that  evening  she  spoke  of 
the  matter  to  him. 

"  Cynthia  is  a  strange  character,"  she  said.  "  Some 
times  I  can't  understand  her  —  she  seems  so  much  older 
than  our  girls,  Stephen.  Think  of  her  keeping  this  to 
herself  for  four  days  !  " 

Mr.  Merrill  laughed,  but  he  went  off  to  a  little  writ 
ing  room  he  had  and  sat  for  a  long  time  looking  into  the 
glowing  coals.  Then  he  laughed  again.  Mr.  Merrill  was 
a  philosopher.  After  all,  he  could  not  forbid  Dudley 
Worthington's  son  coming  to  his  house,  nor  did  he  wish  to. 

That  same  evening  Cynthia  wrote  a  letter  and  posted 
it.  She  found  it  a  very  difficult  letter  to  write,  and  al 
most  as  difficult  to  drop  into  the  mail-box.  She  reflected 
that  the  holidays  were  close  at  hand,  and  then  he  would 
go  to  Brampton  and  forget,  even  as  he  had  forgotten 
before.  And  she  determined  when  Wednesday  afternoon 
came  around  that  she  would  take  a  long  walk  in  the 
direction  of  Brookline.  Cynthia  loved  these  walks, — 
for  she  sadly  missed  the  country  air,  —  and  they  had  kept 
the  color  in  her  cheeks  and  the  courage  in  her  heart  that 
winter.  She  had  amazed  the  Merrill  girls  by  the  distances 


340  CONISTOK 

she  covered,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  she  had 
trudged  many  miles  to  a  spot  from  which  there  was  a  view 
of  Blue  Hills.  They  reminded  her  faintly  of  Coniston. 

Who  can  speak  or  write  with  any  certainty  of  the  femi 
nine  character,  or  declare  what  unexpected  twists  perver 
sity  and  curiosity  may  give  to  it  ?  Wednesday  afternoon 
came,  and  Cynthia  did  not  go  to  Brookline.  She  put  on 
her  coat,  and  took  it  off  again.  Would  he  dare  to  come 
in  the  face  of  the  mandate  he  had  received  ?  If  he  did 
come,  she  wouldn't  see  him.  Ellen  had  received  her 
orders. 

At  four  o'clock  the  doorbell  rang,  and  shortly  thereafter 
Ellen  appeared,  simpering  and  apologetic  enough,  with  a 
card.  She  had  taken  the  trouble  to  read  it  this  time. 
Cynthia  was  angry,  or  thought  she  was,  and  her  cheeks 
were  very  red. 

"  I  told  you  to  excuse  me,  Ellen.  Why  did  you  let  him 
in?" 

"  Miss  Cynthia,  darlin',"  said  Ellen,  "  if  it  was  made  of 
flint  I  was,  wouldn't  he  bring  the  tears  out  of  me  with 
his  wheedlin'  an'  coaxin'  ?  An'  him  such  a  fine  young 
gintleman  !  And  whin  he  took  to  commandin'  like,  sure  I 
couldn't  say  no  to  him  at  all  at  all.  '  Take  the  card  to  her, 
Ellen,'  he  says  —  didn't  he  know  me  name  !  —  *  an'  if  she 
says  she  won't  see  me,  thin  I  won't  trouble  her  more.' 
Thim  were  his  words,  Miss." 

There  he  was  before  the  fire,  his  feet  slightly  apart 
and  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  waiting  for  her.  She  got  a 
glimpse  of  him  standing  thus,  as  she  came  down  the  stairs. 
It  was  not  the  attitude  of  a  culprit.  Nor  did  he  bear  the 
faintest  resemblance  to  a  culprit  as  he  came  up  to  her  in 
the  doorway.  The  chief  recollection  she  carried  away 
of  that  moment  was  that  his  teeth  were  very  white  and 
even  when  he  smiled.  He  had  the  impudence  to  smile. 
He  had  the  impudence  to  seize  one  of  her  hands  in  his, 
and  to  hold  aloft  a  sheet  of  paper  in  the  other. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  said  he. 

"  What  do  you  think  it  means  ?  "  retorted  Cynthia,  with 
dignity. 


341 


342  COKLSTON 

"  A  summons  to  stay  away,"  said  Bob,  thereby  more 
or  less  accurately  describing  it.  "  What  would  you  have 
thought  of  me  if  I  had  not  come  ?  " 

Cynthia  was  not  prepared  for  any  such  question  as  this. 
She  had  meant  to  ask  the  questions  herself.  But  she 
never  lacked  for  words  to  protect  herself. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you  for  coming,  Bob,  for 
insisting  upon  seeing  me  as  you  did,"  she  said,  remember 
ing  with  shame  Ellen's  account  of  that  proceeding.  "  It 
was  very  unkind  and  very  thoughtless  of  you." 

"  Unkind  ?  "  Thus  she  succeeded  in  putting  him  on  the 
defensive. 

"  Yes,  unkind,  because  I  know  it  is  best  for  you  not  to 
come  to  see  me,  and  you  know  it,  and  yet  you  will  not  help 
me  when  I  try  to  do  what  is  right.  I  shall  be  blamed  for 
these  visits,"  she  said.  The  young  ladies  in  the  novels 
always  were.  But  it  was  a  serious  matter  for  poor 
Cynthia,  and  her  voice  trembled  a  little.  Her  troubles 
seemed  very  real. 

"  Who  will  blame  you  ? "  asked  Bob,  though  he  knew 
well  enough.  Then  he  added,  seeing  that  she  did  not 
answer  :  "  I  don't  at  all  agree  with  you  that  it  is  best  for 
me  not  to  see  you.  I  know  of  nobody  in  the  world  it 
does  me  more  good  to  see  than  yourself.  Let's  sit  down 
and  talk  it  all  over,"  he  said,  for  she  still  remained  stand 
ing  uncompromisingly  by  the  door. 

The  suspicion  of  a  smile  came  over  Cynthia's  face.  She 
remembered  how  Ellen  had  been  wheedled.  Her  instinct 
told  her  that  now  was  the  time  to  make  a  stand  or  never. 

"  It  wouldn't  do  any  good,  Bob,"  she  replied,  shaking 
her  head ;  "  we  talked  it  all  over  last  week." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  he,  "  we  only  touched  upon  a  few 
points  last  week.  We  ought  to  thrash  it  out.  Various 
aspects  of  the  matter  have  occurred  to  me  which  I  ought 
to  call  to  your  attention." 

He  could  not  avoid  this  bantering  tone,  but  she  saw 
that  he  was  very  much  in  earnest,  too.  He  realized  the 
necessity  of  winning,  likewise,  and  he  had  got  in  and 
meant  to  stay. 


ME.  MERRILL  ABANDONS  A  HABIT          343 

"  I  don't  want  to  argue,"  said  Cynthia.  "  I've  thought 
it  all  out." 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Bob.  "  I  haven't  thought  of  anything 
else,  to  speak  of.  And  by  the  way,"  he  declared,  shaking 
the  envelope,  "  I  never  got  a  colder  and  more  formal  letter 
in  my  life.  You  must  have  taken  it  from  one  of  Miss 
Sadler's  copy  books." 

"I'm  sorry  I  haven't  been  able  to  equal  the  warmth  of 
your  other  correspondents,"  said  Cynthia,  smiling  at  the 
mention  of  Miss  Sadler. 

"  You've  got  a  good  many  degrees  yet  to  go,"  he 
replied. 

"  I  have  no  idea  of  doing  so,"  said  Cynthia. 

If  Cynthia  had  lured  him  there,  and  had  carefully 
thought  out  a  plan  of  fanning  his  admiration  into  a  flame, 
she  could  not  have  done  better  than  to  stand  obstinately 
by  the  door.  Nothing  appeals  to  a  man  like  resistance  : 
resistance  for  a  principle  appealed  to  Bob,  although  he  did 
not  care  a  fig  about  that  particular  principle.  In  his 
former  dealings  with  young  women  —  and  they  had  not 
been  few  —  the  son  of  Dudley  Worthington  had  encoun 
tered  no  resistance  worth  the  mentioning.  He  looked  at 
the  girl  before  him,  and  his  blood  leaped  at  the  thought 
of  a  conquest  over  her.  She  was  often  demure,  but  be 
hind  that  demureness  was  firmness  :  she  was  mistress  of 
herself,  and  yet  possessed  a  marvellous  vitality. 

"  And  now,"  said  Cynthia,  "  don't  you  think  you  had 
better  go  ?  " 

Go  I  He  laughed  outright.  Never  !  He  would  sit 
down  under  that  fortress,  and  some  day  he  meant  to  scale 
the  walls.  Like  John  Paul  Jones,  he  had  not  yet  begun 
to  fight.  But  he  did  not  sit  down  just  yet,  because  Cyn 
thia  remained  standing. 

"  I'm  here  now,"  he  said,  "  what's  the  good  of  going 
away  ?  I  might  as  well  stay  the  rest  of  the  afternoon." 

"  You  will  find  a  photograph  album  on  the  table,"  said 
Cynthia,  "  with  pictures  of  all  the  Merrill  family  and  their 
friends  and  relations." 

In  spite  of  the  threat  this  remark  conveyed,  he  could 


344  CONISTON 

not  help  laughing  at  it.  Mrs.  Merrill  in  her  sitting  room 
heard  the  laugh,  and  felt  that  she  would  like  Bob  Worth- 
ington. 

"JVs  a  heavy  album,  Cynthia,"  he  said;  "perhaps  you 
would  hold  up  one  side  of  it." 

It  was  Cynthia's  turn  to  laugh.  She  could  not  decide 
whether  he  were  a  man  or  a  boy.  Sometimes,  she  had  to 
admit,  he  was  very  much  of  a  man. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Upstairs,  of  course,"  she  answered. 

This  was  really  alarming.  But  fate  thrust  a  final 
weapon  into  his  hands. 

"  All  right,"  said  he,  "  I'll  look  at  the  album.  What 
time  does  Mr.  Merrill  get  home  ?  " 

"  About  six,"  answered  Cynthia.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  When  he  comes,"  said  Bob,  "  I  shall  put  on  my  most 
disconsolate  expression.  He'll  ask  me  what  I'm  doing, 
and  I'll  tell  him  you  went  upstairs  at  half-past  four 
and  haven't  come  down.  He'll  sympathize,  I'll  bet  any 
thing." 

Whether  Bob  were  really  capable  of  doing  this,  Cynthia 
could  not  tell.  She  believed  he  was.  Perhaps  she  really 
did  not  intend  to  go  upstairs  just  then.  To  his  intense 
relief  she  seated  herself  on  a  straight-backed  chair  near 
the  door,  although  she  had  the  air  of  being  about  to  get 
up  again  at  any  minute.  It  was  not  a  surrender,  not  at 
all  —  but  a  parley,  at  least. 

"  I  really  want  to  talk  to  you  seriously,  Bob,"  she  said,  and 
her  voice  was  serious.  "  I  like  you  very  much  —  I  always 
have  —  and  I  want  you  to  listen  seriously.  All  of  us 
have  friends.  Some  people  —  you,  for  instance  —  have  a 
great  many.  We  have  but  one  father."  Her  voice  failed 
a  little  at  the  word.  "  No  friend  can  ever  be  the  same  to 
you  as  your  father,  and  no  friendship  can  make  up  what 
his  displeasure  will  cost  you.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
I  shan't  always  be  your  friend,  for  I  shall  be." 

Young  men  seldom  arrive  at  maturity  by  gradual  steps 
—  something  sets  them  thinking,  a  week  passes,  and  sud 
denly  the  world  has  a  different  aspect.  Bob  had  thought 


MR.  MERRILL  ABANDONS  A  HABIT          345 

much  of  his  father  during  that  week,  and  had  considered 
their  relationship  very  carefully.  He  had  a  few  precious 
memories  of  his  mother  before  she  had  been  laid  to  rest 
under  that  hideous  and  pretentious  monument  in  the 
Brampton  hill  cemetery.  How  unlike  her  was  that  monu 
ment!  Even  as  a  young  boy,  when  on  occasions  he  had 
wandered  into  the  cemetery,  he  used  to  stand  before  it  with 
a  lump  in  his  throat  and  bitter  resentment  in  his  heart,  and 
once  he  had  shaken  his  fist  at  it.  He  had  grown  up  out  of 
sympathy  with  his  father,  but  he  had  never  until  now 
began  to  analyze  the  reasons  for  it.  His  father  had  given 
him  everything  except  that  communion  of  which  Cynthia 
spoke  so  feelingly.  Mr.  Worthington  had  acted  accord 
ing  to  his  lights  :  of  all  the  people  in  the  world  he  thought 
first  of  his  son.  But  his  thoughts  and  care  had  been  alone 
of  what  the  son  would  be  to  the  world:  how  that  son 
would  carry  on  the  wealth  and  greatness  of  Isaac  D. 
Worthington. 

Bob  had  known  this  before,  but  it  had  had  no  such  sig 
nificance  for  him  then  as  now.  He  was  by  no  means  lack 
ing  in  shrewdness,  and  as  he  had  grown  older  he  had 
perceived  clearly  enough  Mr.  Worthington's  reasons  for 
throwing  him -socially  with  the  Duncans.  Mr.  Worthing 
ton  had  never  been  a  plain-spoken  man,  but  he  had  as 
much  as  told  his  son  that  it  was  decreed  that  he  should 
marry  the  heiress  of  the  state.  There  were  other  plans 
connected  with  this.  Mr.  Worthington  meant  that  his 
son  should  eventually  own  the  state  itself,  for  he  saw 
that  the  man  who  controlled  the  highways  of  a  state 
sould  snap  his  fingers  at  governor  and  council  and  legisla 
ture  and  judiciary:  could,  indeed,  do  more  —  could  own 
them  even  more  completely  than  Jethro  Bass  now  owned 
them,  and  without  effort.  The  dividends  would  do  the 
work:  would  canvass  the  counties  and  persuade  this  man 
and  that  with  sufficient  eloquence.  By  such  tokens  it 
will  be  seen  that  Isaac  D.  Worthington  is  destined  to 
become  great-,  though  the  greatness  will  be  akin  to  that 
possessed  by  those  gentlemen  who  in  past  ages  had 
built  castles  across  the  highway  between  Venice  and  the 


346  CONISTON 

North  Sea.  All  this  was  in  store  for  Bob  Worthington, 
if  he  could  only  be  brought  to  see  it.  These  things  would 
be  given  him,  if  he  would  but  confine  his  worship  to  the 
god  of  wealth. 

We  are  running  ahead,  however,  of  Bob's  reflections 
in  Mr.  Merrill's  parlor  in  Mount  Vernon  Street,  and  the 
ceremony  of  showing  him  the  cities  of  his  world  from 
Brampton  hill  was  yet  to  be  gone  through.  Bob  knew 
his  father's  plans  only  in  a  general  way,  but  in  the  past 
week  he  had  come  to  know  his  father  with  a  fair  amount 
of  thoroughness.  If  Isaac  D.  Worthington  had  but 
chosen  a  worldly  wife,  he  might  have  had  a  more  worldly 
son.  As  it  was,  Bob's  thoughts  were  a  little  bitter  when 
Cynthia  spoke  of  his  father,  and  he  tried  to  think  instead 
what  his  mother  would  have  him  do.  He  could  not,  indeed, 
speak  of  Mr.  Worthington's  shortcomings  as  he  under 
stood  them,  but  he  answered  Cynthia  vigorously  enough 
—  even  if  his  words  were  not  as  serious  as  she  desired. 

"  I  tell  you  I  am  old  enough  to  judge  for  myself,  Cyn 
thia,"  said  he,  "  and  I  intend  to  judge  for  myself.  I  don't 
pretend  to  be  a  paragon  of  virtue,  but  I  have  a  kind  of  a 
conscience  which  tells  me  when  I  am  doing  wrong,  if  I 
listen  to  it.  I  have  not  always  listened  to  it.  It  tells  me 
I'm  doing  right  now,  and  I  mean  to  listen  to  it." 

Cynthia  could  not  but  think  there  was  very  little  self- 
denial  attached  to  this.  Men  are  not  given  largely  to 
self-denial. 

"  It  is  easy  enough  to  listen  to  your  conscience  when  you 
think  it  impels  you  to  do  that  which  you  want  to  do, 
Bob,"  she  answered,  laughing  at  his  argument  in  spite  of 
herself. 

"  Are  you  wicked  ?  "  he  demanded  abruptly. 

"  Why,  no,  I  don't  think  I  am,"  said  Cynthia,  taken 
aback.  But  she  corrected  herself  swiftly,  perceiving  his 
bent.  "  I  should  be  doing  wrong  to  let  you  come  here." 

He  ignored  the  qualification. 

"  Are  you  vain  and  frivolous  ?  " 

She  remembered  that  she  had  looked  in  the  glass  before 
she  had  come  down  to  him,  and  bit  her  lip. 


ME.  MERRILL  ABANDONS  A  HABIT  347 

"  Are  you  given  over  to  idle  pursuits,  to  leading  young 
men  from  their  occupations  and  duties  ?  " 

"  If  you've  come  here  to  recite  the  Blue  Laws,"  said  she, 
laughing  again,  "  I  have  something  better  to  do  than  to 
listen  to  them." 

"  Cynthia,"  he  cried,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  you  are.  I'll 
draw  your  character  for  you,  and  then,  if  you  can  give  me 
one  good  reason  why  I  should  not  associate  with  you,  I'll 
go  away  and  never  come  back." 

"That's  all  very  well,"  said  Cynthia,  "but  suppose  I 
don't  admit  your  qualifications  for  drawing  my  character. 
And  I  don't  admit  them,  not  for  a  minute." 

"  I  will  draw  it,"  said  he,  standing  up  in  front  of  her. 
"  Oh,  confound  it  !  " 

This  exclamation,  astonishing  and  out  of  place  as  it  was, 
was  caused  by  a  ring  at  the  doorbell.  The  ring  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  whispering  and  giggling  in  the  hall,  and  then 
by  the  entrance  of  the  Misses  Merrill  into  the  parlor. 
Curiosity  had  been  too  strong  for  them.  Susan  was 
human,  and  here  was  the  opportunity  for  a  little  revenge. 
In  justice  to  her,  she  meant  the  revenge  to  be  very  slight. 

"  Well,  Cynthia,  you  should  have  come  to  the  concert," 
she  said ;  "  it  was  fine,  wasn't  it,  Jane  ?  Is  this  Mr.  Worth- 
ington  ?  How  do  you  do.  I'm  Miss  Susan  Merrill,  and 
this  is  Miss  Jane  Merrill." 

Susan  only  intended  to  stay  a  minute,  but  how  was  Bob 
to  know  that  ?  She  was  tempted  into  staying  longer. 
Bob  lighted  the  gas,  and  she  inspected  him  and  approved. 
Her  approval  increased  when  he  began  to  talk  to  her  in 
his  bantering  way,  as  if  he  had  known  her  always.  Then, 
when  she  was  fully  intending  to  go,  he  rose  to  take  his 
leave. 

"  I'm  awfully  glad  to  have  met  you  at  last,"  he  said  to 
Susan,  "  I've  heard  so  much  about  you."  His  leave-taking 
of  Jane  was  less  effusive,  and  then  he  turned  to  Cynthia 
and  took  her  hand.  "  I'm  going  to  Brampton  on  Friday," 
he  said,  "for  the  holidays.  I  wish  you  were  going." 

"  We  couldn't  think  of  letting  her  go,  Mr.  Worthing- 
ton,"  cried  Susan,  for  the  thought  of  the  hills  had  made 


348  CONISTON 

Cynthia  incapable  of  answering.  "We're  only  to  have 
her  for  one  short  winter,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  gravely.  "  I'll 
see  old  Ephraim,  and  tell  him  you're  well,  and  what  a 
marvel  of  learning  you've  become.  And  —  and  I'll  go  to 
Coniston  if  that  will  please  you." 

"  Oh,  no,  Bob,  you  mustn't  do  anything  of  the  kind," 
answered  Cynthia,  trying  to  keep  back  the  tears.  "I  —  I 
write  to  Uncle  Jethro  very  often.  Good-by.  I  hope  you 
will  enjoy  your  holidays." 

"  I'm  coming  to  see  you  the  minute  I  get  back  and  tell 
you  all  about  everybody,"  said  he. 

How  was  she  to  forbid  him  to  come  before  Susan  and 
Jane  !  She  could  only  be  silent. 

"  Do  come,  Mr.  Worthington,"  said  Susan,  warmly, 
wondering  at  Cynthia's  coldness  and,  indeed,  misinterpret 
ing  it.  "  I  am  sure  she  will  be  glad  to  see  you.  And  we 
shall  always  make  you  welcome,  at  any  rate." 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  the  door,  Susan  became  very 
repentant,  and  slipped  her  hand  about  Cynthia's  waist. 

"  We  shouldn't  have  come  in  at  all  if  we  had  known 
he  would  go  so  soon,  indeed  we  shouldn't,  Cynthia."  And 
seeing  that  Cynthia  was  still  silent,  she  added :  "  I  wouldn't 
do  such  a  mean  thing,  Cynthia,  I  really  wouldn't.  Won't 
you  believe  me  and  forgive  me  ?  " 

Cynthia  scarcely  heard  her  at  first.  She  was  thinking 
of  Coniston  mountain,  and  how  the  sun  had  just  set  be 
hind  it.  The  mountain  would  be  ultramarine  against  the 
white  fields,  and  the  snow  on  the  hill  pastures  to  the  east 
stained  red  as  with  wine.  What  would  she  not  have 
given  to  be  going  back  to-morrow  —  yes,  with  Bob.  She 
confessed  —  though  startled  by  the  very  boldness  of  the 
thought  —  that  she  would  like  to  be  going  there  with 
Bob.  Susan's  appeal  brought  her  back  to  Boston  and  the 
gas-lit  parlor. 

"  Forgive  you,  Susan !  There's  nothing  to  forgive.  I 
wanted  him  to  go." 

"  You  wanted  him  to  go  ?  "  repeated  Susan,  amazed. 
She  may  be  pardoned  if  she  did  not  believe  this,  but  a 


" '  I'm  coming  to  see  you  the  minute  I  get  back. 


349 


350  CONISTON 

glance  at  Cynthia's  face  scarcely  left  a  room  for  doubt. 
"  Cynthia  Wetherell,  you're  the  strangest  girl  I've  ever 
known  in  all  my  life.  If  I  had  a  —  a  friend"  (Susan  had 
another  word  on  her  tongue)  "  if  I  had  such  a  friend  as 
Mr.  Worthington,  I  shouldn't  be  in  a  hurry  to  let  him 
leave  me.  Of  course,"  she  added,  "  I  shouldn't  let  him 
know  it." 

Cynthia's  heart  was  very  heavy  during  the  next  few 
days,  heavier  by  far  than  her  friends  in  Mount  Vernon 
Street  imagined.  They  had  grown  to  love  her  almost  as 
one  of  themselves,  and  because  of  the  sympathy  which 
comes  of  such  love  they  guessed  that  her  thoughts  would 
be  turning  homeward  at  Christmastide.  At  school  she 
had  listened,  perforce,  to  the  festival  plans  of  thirty  girls 
of  her  own  age;  to  accounts  of  the  probable  presents  they 
were  to  receive,  the  cost  of  some  of  which  would  support 
a  family  in  Coniston  for  several  months;  to  arrangements 
for  visits,  during  which  there  were  to  be  theatre-parties 
and  dances  and  other  gayeties.  Cynthia  could  not  help 
wondering,  as  she  listened  in  silence  to  this  talk,  whether 
Uncle  Jethro  had  done  wisely  in  sending  her  to  Miss 
Sadler's;  whether  she  would  not  have  been  far  happier  if 
she  had  never  known  about  such  things. 

Then  came  the  last  day  of  school,  which  began  with 
leave-takings  and  embraces.  There  were  not  many  who 
embraced  Cynthia,  though,  had  she  known  it,  this  was 
largely  her  own  fault.  Poor  Cynthia  !  how  was  she  to 
know  it  ?  Many  more  of  them  than  she  imagined  would 
have  liked  to  embrace  her  had  they  believed  that  the 
embrace  would  be  returned.  Secretly  they  had  grown 
to  admire  this  strange,  dark  girl,  who  was  too  proud  to 
bend  for  the  good  opinion  of  any  one  —  even  of  Miss 
Sally  Broke.  Once  during  the  term  Cynthia  had  held 
some  of  them  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand,  and  had  incurred 
the  severe  displeasure  of  Miss  Sadler  by  refusing  to  tell 
what  she  knew  of  certain  mischief-makers. 

Now,  Miss  Sadler  was  going  about  among  them  in 
the  school  parlor  saying  good-by,  sending  particular 
remembrances  to  such  of  the  fathers  and  mothers  as 


MR.  MERRILL  ABANDONS  A  HABIT  351 

thought  worthy  of  that  honor  ;  kissing  some,  shaking 
hands  with  all.  It  was  then  that  a  dramatic  incident 
occurred  —  dramatic  for  a  girls'  school,  at  least.  Cynthia 
deliberately  turned  her  back  on  Miss  Sadler  and  looked 
out  of  the  window.  The  chatter  in  the  room  was  hushed, 
and  for  a  moment  a  dangerous  wrath  flamed  in  Miss 
Sadler's  eyes.  Then  she  passed  on  with  a  smile,  to  send 
most  particular  messages  to  the  mother  of  Miss  Isabel 
Burrage. 

Some  few  moments  afterward  Cynthia  felt  a  touch 
on  her  arm,  and  turned  to  find  herself  confronted  by 
Miss  Sally  Broke.  Unfortunately  there  is  not  much  room 
for  Miss  Broke  in  this  story,  although  she  may  appear  in 
another  one  yet  to  be  written.  She  was  extremely  good- 
looking,  with  real  golden  hair  and  mischievous  blue  eyes. 
She  was,  in  brief,  the  leader  of  Miss  Sadler's  school. 

"  Cynthia,"  she  said,  "  I  was  rude  to  you  when  you 
first  came  here,  and  I'm  sorry  for  it.  I  want  to  beg  your 
pardon."  And  she  held  out  her  hand. 

There  was  a  moment's  suspense  for  those  watching  to 
see  if  Cynthia  would  take  it.  She  did  take  it. 

"  I'm  sorry,  too,"  said  Cynthia,  simply,  "  I  couldn't  see 
what  I'd  done  to  offend  you.  Perhaps  you'll  explain  now." 

Miss  Broke  blushed  violently,  and  for  an  instant  looked 
decidedly  uncomfortable.  Then  she  burst  into  laughter, 
—  merry,  irresistible  laughter  that  carried  all  before  it. 

"  I  was  a  snob,  that's  all,"  said  she,  "  just  a  plain,  low- 
down  snob.  You  don't  understand  what  that  means, 
because  you're  not  one."  (Cynthia  did  understand, never 
theless.)  "But  I  like  you,  and  I  want  you  to  be  my  friend. 
Perhaps  when  I  get  to  know  you  better,  you  will  come 
home  with  me  sometime  for  a  visit." 

Go  home  with  her  for  a  visit  to  that  house  in  Washing 
ton  Square  with  the  picture  gallery  I 

"  I  want  to  say  that  I'd  give  my  head  to  have  been  able 
to  turn  my  back  on  Miss  Sadler  as  you  did,"  continued 
Miss  Broke ;  "  if  you  ever  want  a  friend,  remember  Sally 
Broke." 

Some  of  Cynthia's  trouble,  at  least,  was  mitigated  by 


352  CONISTON 

this  episode ;  and  Miss  Broke  having  led  the  way,  Miss 
Broke's  followers  came  shyly,  one  by  one,  with  proffers  of 
friendship.  To  the  good-hearted  Merrill  girls  the  walk 
home  that  day  was  a  kind  of  a  triumphal  march,  a  victory 
over  Miss  Sadler  and  a  vindication  of  their  friend.  Mrs. 
Merrill,  when  she  heard  of  it,  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart 
to  reprove  Cynthia.  Miss  Sadler  had  got  her  just  deserts. 
But  Miss  Sadler  was  not  a  person  who  was  likely  to  forget 
such  an  incident.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Merrill  half  expected  to 
receive  a  note  before  the  holidays  ended  that  Cynthia's 
presence  was  no  longer  desired  at  the  school.  No  such 
note  came,  however. 

If  one  had  to  be  away  from  home  on  Christmas,  there 
could  surely  be  no  better  place  to  spend  that  day  than  in 
the  Merrill  household.  Cynthia  remembers  still,  when  that 
blessed  season  comes  around,  how  each  member  of  the 
family  vied  with  the  others  to  make  her  happy ;  how  they 
showered  presents  on  her,  and  how  they  strove  to  include 
her  in  the  laughter  and  jokes  at  the  big  family  dinner. 
Mr.  Merrill's  brother  was  there  with  his  wife,  and  Mrs. 
Merrill's  aunt  and  her  husband,  and  two  broods  of  cousins. 
It  may  be  well  to  mention  that  the  Merrill  relations,  like 
Sally  Broke,  had  overcome  their  dislike  for  Cynthia. 

There  were  eatables  from  Coniston  on  that  board.  A 
turkey  sent  by  Jethro  for  which,  Mr.  Merrill  declared, 
the  table  would  have  to  be  strengthened ;  a  saddle  of  ven 
ison  —  Lem  Hallowell  having  shot  a  deer  on  the  mountain 
two  Sundays  before ;  and  mince-meat  made  by  Amanda 
Hatch  herself.  Other  presents  had  come  to  Cynthia  from 
the  hills  :  a  gorgeous  copy  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  poems 
from  Cousin  Ephraim,  and  a  gold  locket  from  Uncle 
Jethro.  This  locket  was  the  precise  counterpart  (had  she 
but  known  it)  of  a  silver  one  bought  at  Mr.  Judson's  shop 
many  years  before,  though  the  inscription  "  Cynthy,  from 
Uncle  Jethro,"  was  within.  Into  the  other  side  exactly 
fitted  that  daguerreotype  of  her  mother  which  her  father 
had  given  her  when  he  died.  The  locket  had  a  gold 
chain  with  a  clasp,  and  Cynthia  wore  it  hidden  beneath 
her  gown  —  too  intimate  a  possession  to  be  shown. 


MR.  MERRILL  ABANDONS  A  HABIT  353 

There  was  still  another  and  very  mysterious  present, 
this  being  a  huge  box  of  roses,  addressed  to  Miss  Cynthia 
Wetherell,  which  was  delivered  on  Christmas  morning. 
If  there  had  been  a  card,  Susan  Merrill  would  certainly 
have  found  it.  There  was  no  card.  There  was  much 
pretended  speculation  on  the  part  of  the  Merrill  girls  as 
to  the  sender,  sly  reference  to  Cynthia's  heightened  color, 
and  several  attempts  to  pin  on  her  dress  a  bunch  of  the 
flowers,  and  Susan  declared  that  one  of  them  would  look 
stunning  in  her  hair.  They  were  put  on  the  dining-room 
table  in  the  centre  of  the  wreath  of  holly,  and  under  the 
mistletoe  which  hung  from  the  chandelier.  Whether 
Cynthia  surreptitiously  stole  one  has  never  been  dis 
covered. 

So  Christmas  came  and  went :  not  altogether  unhappily, 
deferring  for  a  day  at  least  the  knotty  problems  of  life. 
Although  Cynthia  accepted  the  present  of  the  roses  with 
such  magnificent  unconcern,  and  would  not  make  so  much 
as  a  guess  as  to  who  sent  them,  Mr.  Robert  Worthington 
was  frequently  in  her  thoughts.  He  had  declared  his  in 
tention  of  coming  to  Mount  Vernon  Street  as  soon  as  the 
holidays  ended,  and  had  been  cordially  invited  by  Susan 
to  do  so.  Cynthia  took  the  trouble  to  procure  a  Harvard 
catalogue  from  the  library,  and  discovered  that  he  had 
many  holidays  yet  to  spend.  She  determined  to  write 
another  letter,  which  he  would  find  in  his  rooms  when  he 
returned.  Just  what  terrible  prohibitory  terms  she  was 
to  employ  in  that  letter  Cynthia  could  not  decide  in  a 
moment,  nor  yet  in  a  day,  or  a  week.  She  went  so  far  as 
to  make  several  drafts,  some  of  which  she  destroyed  for 
the  fault  of  leniency,  and  others  for  that  of  severity. 
What  was  she  to  say  to  him  ?  She  had  expended  her 
arguments  to  no  avail.  She  could  wound  him,  indeed, 
and  at  length  made  up  her  mind  that  this  was  the  only 
resource  left  her,  although  she  would  thereby  wound  her 
self  more  deeply.  When  she  had  arrived  at  this  decision, 
there  remained  still  more  than  a  week  in  which  to  com 
pose  the  letter. 

On  the  morning  after  New  Year's,  when  the  family  were 

2A 


354  CONISTOtf 

assembled  around  the  breakfast  table,  Mrs.  Merrill  re 
marked  that  her  husband  was  neglecting  a  custom  which 
had  been  his  for  many  years. 

"  Didn't  the  newspaper  come,  Stephen?  "  she  asked. 

Mr.  Merrill  had  read  it. 

"  Read  it !  "  repeated  his  wife,  in  surprise,  "  you  haven't 
been  down  long  enough  to  read  a  column." 

"  It  was  full  of  trash,"  said  Mr.  Merrill,  lightly,  and 
began  on  his  usual  jokes  with  the  girls.  But  Mrs.  Merrill 
was  troubled.  She  thought  his  jokes  not  as  hearty  as 
they  were  wont  to  be,  and  disquieting  surmises  of  busi 
ness  worries  filled  her  mind.  The  fact  that  he  beckoned 
her  into  his  writing  room  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over 
did  not  tend  to  allay  her  suspicions.  He  closed  and 
locked  the  door  after  her,  and  taking  the  paper  from  a 
drawer  in  his  desk  bade  her  read  a  certain  article  in  it. 

The  article  was  an  arraignment  of  Jethro  Bass  —  and  a 
terrible  arraignment  indeed.  Step  by  step  it  traced  his 
career  from  the  beginning,  showing  first  of  all  how  he  had 
debauched  his  own  town  of  Coniston  ;  how,  enlarging  on 
the  same  methods,  he  had  gradually  extended  his  grip 
over  the  county  and  finally  over  the  state ;  how  he  had 
bought  and  sold  men  for  his  own  power  and  profit,  de 
ceived  those  who  had  trusted  in  him,  corrupted  governors 
and  legislators,  congressmen  and  senators,  and  even  jus 
tices  of  the  courts;  how  he  had  trafficked  ruthlessly  in 
the  enterprises  of  the  people.  Instance  upon  instance  was 
given,  and  men  of  high  prominence  from  whom  he  had 
received  bribes  were  named,  not  the  least  important  of 
these  being  the  Honorable  Alva  Hopkins  of  Gosport. 

Mrs.  Merrill  looked  up  from  the  paper  in  dismay. 

"It's  copied  from  the  Newcastle  G-uardian"  she  said, 
for  lack  of  immediate  power  to  comment.  "  Isn't  the  Guar 
dian  the  chief  paper  in  that  state  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Worthington's  bought  it,  and  he  instigated  the 
article,  of  course.  I've  been  afraid  of  this  for  a  long 
time,  Carry,"  said  Mr.  Merrill,  pacing  up  and  down. 
"There's  a  bigger  fight  than  they've  ever  had  coming 
on  up  there,  and  this  is  the  first  gun.  Worthington,  with 


ME.  MEEEILL  ABANDONS  A  HABIT          355 

Duncan  behind  him,  is  trying  to  get  possession  of  and 
consolidate  all  the  railroads  in  the  western  part  of  that 
state.  If  he  succeeds,  it  will  mean  the  end  of  Jethro's 
power.  But  he  won't  succeed." 

"  Stephen,"  said  his  wife,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  that 
Jethro  Bass  will  try  to  defeat  this  consolidation  simply  to 
keep  his  power?" 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  answered  Mr.  Merrill,  still  pacing, 
"  two  wrongs  don't  make  a  right,  I  admit.  I've  known 
these  things  a  long  time,  and  I've  thought  about  them  a 
good  deal.  But  I've  had  to  run  along  with  the  tide, 
or  give  place  to  another  man  who  would,  and  —  and 
starve." 

Mrs.  Merrill's  eyes  slowly  filled  with  tears. 

"  Stephen,"  she  began,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  —  ?  "  There 
she  stopped,  utterly  unable  to  speak.  He  ceased  his  pac 
ing  and  sat  down  beside  her  and  took  her  hand. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  mean  to  say  I've  submitted  to  these 
things.  God  knows  whether  I've  been  right  or  wrong, 
but  I  have.  I've  often  thought  I'd  be  happier  if  I 're 
signed  my  office  as  president  of  my  road  and  became  a 
clerk  in  a  store.  I  don't  attempt  to  excuse  myself,  Carry, 
but  my  sin  has  been  in  holding  on  to  my  post.  As  long 
as  I  remain  president  I  have  to  cope  with  things  as  I  find 
them." 

Mr.  Merrill  spoke  thickly,  for  the  sight  of  his  wife's 
tears  wrung  his  heart. 

"  Stephen,"  she  said,  "  when  we  were  first  married  and 
you  were  a  district  superintendent,  you  used  to  tell  me 
everything." 

Stephen  Merrill  was  a  man,  and  a  good  man,  as  men  go. 
How  was  he  to  tell  her  the  degrees  by  which  he  had  been 
led  into  his  present  situation  ?  How  was  he  to  explain 
that  these  degrees  had  been  so  gradual  that  his  conscience 
had  had  but  a  passing  wrench  here  and  there?  Politics 
being  what  they  were,  progress  and  protection  had  to  be 
obtained  in  accordance  with  them,  and  there  was  a  duty 
to  the  holders  of  bonds  and  stocks. 

His  wife  had  a  question  on  her  lips,  a  question  for  which 


356  CONISTON 

she  had  to  summon  all  her  courage.  She  chose  that  form 
for  it  which  would  hurt  him  least. 

"  Mr.  Worthington  is  going  to  try  to  change  these 
things?" 

Mr.  Merrill  roused  himself  at  the  words,  and  his  eyes 
flashed.  He  became  a  different  man. 

"  Change  them  !  "  he  cried  bitterly,  "  change  them  for 
the  worse,  if  he  can.  He  will  try  to  wrest  the  power 
from  Jethro  Bass.  I  don't  defend  him.  I  don't  defend 
myself.  But  I  like  Jethro  Bass.  I  won't  deny  it.  He's 
human,  and  I  like  him,  and  whatever  they  say  about  him 
I  know  that  he's  been  a  true  friend  to  me.  And  I  tell 
you  as  I  hope  for  happiness  here  and  hereafter,  that  if 
Worthington  succeeds  in  what  he  is  trying  to  do,  if  the 
railroads  win  in  this  fight,  there  will  be  no  mercy  for  the 
people  of  that  state.  I'm  a  railroad  man  myself,  though  I 
have  no  interest  in  this  affair.  My  turn  may  come  later. 
Will  come  later,  I  suppose.  Isaac  D.  Worthington  has  a 
very  little  heart  or  soul  or  mercy  himself  ;  but  the  corpo 
ration  which  he  means  to  set  up  will  have  none  at  all.  It 
will  grind  the  people  and  debase  them  and  clog  their 
progress  a  hundred  times  more  than  Jethro  Bass  has  done. 
Mark  my  words,  Carry.  I'm  running  ahead  of  the  times 
a  little,  but  I  can  see  it  all  as  clearly  as  if  it  existed  now." 

Mrs.  Merrill  went  about  her  duties  that  morning  with 
a  heavy  heart,  and  more  than  once  she  paused  to  wipe 
away  a  tear  that  would  have  fallen  on  the  linen  she  was 
sorting.  At  eleven  o'clock  the  doorbell  rang,  and  Ellen 
appeared  at  the  entrance  to  the  linen  closet  with  a  card 
in  her  hand.  Mrs.  Merrill  looked  at  it  with  a  flurry  of 
surprise.  It  read :  — 

MISS  LUCRETIA  PENNIMAN 

The  Woman's  Hour 


CHAPTER   X 

OF   AN  UNEXPECTED   KETUEN 

IT  was  certainly  affinity  that  led  Miss  Lucretia  to  choose 
the  rosewood  sofa  of  a  bygone  age,  which  was  covered  with 
horsehair.  Miss  Lucretia's  features  seemed  to  be  con 
structed  on  a  larger  and  more  generous  principle  than 
those  of  women  are  nowadays.  Her  face  was  longer. 
With  her  curls  and  her  bonnet  and  her  bombazine, — 
which  she  wore  in  all  seasons,  —  she  was  in  complete 
harmony  with  the  sofa.  She  had  thrown  aside  the  storm 
cloak  which  had  become  so  familiar  to  pedestrians  in 
certain  parts  of  Boston. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Penniman,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  "  I  am 
delighted  and  honored.  I  scarcely  hoped  for  such  a 
pleasure.  I  have  so  long  admired  you  and  your  work, 
and  I  have  heard  Cynthia  speak  of  you  so  kindly." 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  say  so,  Mrs.  Merrill," 
answered  Miss  Lucretia,  in  her  full,  deep  voice.  It  was 
by  no  means  an  unpleasant  voice.  She  settled  herself, 
though  she  sat  quite  upright,  in  the  geometrical  centre  of 
the  horsehair  sofa,  and  cleared  her  throat.  "  To  be  quite 
honest  with  you,  Mrs.  Merrill,"  she  continued,  "  I  came 
upon  a  particular  errand,  though  I  believe  it  would  not  be 
a  perversion  of  the  truth  if  I  were  to  add  that  I  have  had 
for  a  month  past  every  intention  of  paying  you  a  friendly 
call." 

Good  Mrs.  Merrill's  breath  was  a  little  taken  away  by 
this  extremely  scrupulous  speech.  She  also  began  to  feel 
a  misgiving  about  the  cause  of  the  visit,  but  she  managed 
to  say  something  polite  in  reply. 

"  I  have  come  about  Cynthia,"  announced  Miss  Lucretia, 
without  further  preliminaries. 

367 


358  CONISTON 

"  About  Cynthia  ?  "  faltered  Mrs.  Merrill. 

Miss  Lucretia  opened  a  reticule  at  her  waist  and  drew 
forth  a  newspaper  clipping,  which  she  unfolded  and  handed 
to  Mrs.  Merrill. 

"  Have  you  seen  this  ?  "  she  demanded. 

Mrs.  Merrill  took  it,  although  she  guessed  very  well 
what  it  was,  glanced  at  it  with  a  shudder,  and  handed  it 
back. 

"  Yes,  I  have  read  it,"  she  said. 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  you,  Mrs.  Merrill,"  said  Miss 
Lucretia,  "if  it  is  true." 

Here  was  a  question,  indeed,  for  the  poor  lady  to  answer! 
But  Mrs.  Merrill  was  no  coward. 

"It  is  partly  true,  I  believe." 

"  Partly  ?  "  said  Miss  Lucretia,  sharply. 

"  Yes,  partly,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  rousing  herself  for  the 
trial ;  "  I  have  never  yet  seen  a  newspaper  article  which 
was  wholly  true." 

"  That  is  because  newspapers  are  not  edited  by  women," 
observed  Miss  Lucretia.  "  What  I  wish  you  to  tell  me, 
Mrs.  Merrill,  is  this :  how  much  of  that  article  is  true, 
and  how  much  of  it  is  false  ?  " 

"  Really,  Miss  Penniman,"  replied  Mrs.  Merrill,  with 
spirit,  "  I  don't  see  why  you  should  expect  me  to  know." 

"A  woman  should  take  an  intelligent  interest  in  her 
husband's  affairs,  Mrs.  Merrill.  I  have  long  advocated  it 
as  an  entering  wedge." 

"  An  entering  wedge!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Merrill,  who  had 
never  read  a  page  of  the  Woman's  Hour. 

"  Yes.  Your  husband  is  the  president  of  a  railroad,  I 
believe,  which  is  largely  in  that  state.  I  should  like  to 
ask  him  whether  these  statements  are  true  in  the  main. 
Whether  this  Jethro  Bass  is  the  kind  of  man  they  declare 
him  to  be." 

Mrs.  Merrill  was  in  a  worse  quandary  than  ever.  Her 
own  spirits  were  none  too  good,  and  Miss  Lucre tia's  eye, 
in  its  search  for  truth,  seemed  to  pierce  into  her  very  soul. 
There  was  no  evading  that  eye.  But  Mrs.  Merrill  did  what 
few  people  would  have  had  the  courage  or  good  sense  to  do. 


OF  AN  UNEXPECTED  EETUEN  359 

"  That  is  a  political  article,  Miss  Penniman,"  she  said, 
"inspired  by  a  bitter  enemy  of  Jethro  Bass,  Mr.  Worth- 
ington,  who  has  bought  the  newspaper  from  which  it  was 
copied.  For  that  reason,  I  was  right  in  saying  that  it  is 
partly  true.  You  nor  I,  Miss  Penniman,  must  not  be  the 
judges  of  any  man  or  woman,  for  we  know  nothing  of 
their  problems  or  temptations.  God  will  judge  them. 
We  can  only  say  that  they  have  acted  rightly  or  wrongly 
according  to  the  light  that  is  in  us.  You  will  find  it 
difficult  to  get  a  judgment  of  Jethro  Bass  that  is  not  a 
partisan  judgment,  and  yet  I  believe  that  that  article  is  in 
the  main  a  history  of  the  life  of  Jethro  Bass.  A  partisan 
history,  but  still  a  history.  He  has  unquestionably  com 
mitted  many  of  the  acts  of  which  he  is  accused." 

Here  was  talk  to  make  the  author  of  the  "  Hymn  to 
Coniston  "  sit  up,  if  she  hadn't  been  sitting  up  already. 

"  And  don't  you  condemn  him  for  those  acts  ? "  she 
gasped. 

"  Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  thinking  of  her  own  hus 
band.  Yesterday  she  would  certainly  have  condemned 
Jethro  Bass.  But  now  !  "  I  do  not  condemn  anybody, 
Miss  Penniman." 

Miss  Lucretia  thought  this  extraordinary,  to  say  the 
least. 

"  I  will  put  the  question  in  another  way,  Mrs.  Mer 
rill,"  said  she.  "  Do  you  think  this  Jethro  Bass  a  proper 
guardian  for  Cynthia  Wetherell  ?  " 

To  her  amazement  Mrs.  Merrill  did  not  give  her  an 
instantaneous  answer  to  this  question.  Mrs.  Merrill  was 
thinking  of  Jethro's  love  for  the  girl,  manifold  evidences 
of  which  she  had  seen,  and  her  heart  was  filled  with 
a  melting  pity.  It  was  such  a  love,  Mrs.  Merrill  knew, 
as  is  not  given  to  many  here  below.  And  there  was 
Cynthia's  love  for  him.  Mrs.  Merrill  had  suffered  that 
morning  thinking  of  this  tragedy  also. 

"  I  do  not  think  he  is  a  proper  guardian  for  her,  Miss 
Penniman." 

It  was  then  that  the  tears  came  to  Mrs.  Merrill's  eyes, 
for  there  is  a  limit  to  all  human  endurance.  The  sight  of 


360  CON1STON 

these  caused  a  remarkable  change  in  Miss  Lucretia,  and 
she  leaned  forward  and  seized  Mrs.  Merrill's  arm. 

"  My  dear,"  she  cried,  "  my  dear,  what  are  we  to  do  ? 
Cynthia  can't  go  back  to  that  man.  She  loves  him,  I 
know,  she  loves  him  as  few  girls  are  capable  of  loving. 
But  when  she  finds  out  what  he  is  !  When  she  finds 
out  how  he  got  the  money  to  support  her  father  ! " 
Miss  Lucretia  fumbled  in  her  reticule  and  drew  forth 
a  handkerchief  and  brushed  her  own  eyes  —  eyes  which 
a  moment  ago  were  so  piercing.  "  I  have  seen  many  young 
women,"  she  continued  ;  "  but  I  have  known  very  few 
who  were  made  of  as  fine  a  fibre  and  who  have  such 
principles  as  Cynthia  Wetherell." 

"  That  is  very  true,"  assented  Mrs.  Merrill,  too  much 
cast  down  to  be  amazed  by  this  revelation  of  Miss 
Lucretia's  weakness. 

"But  what  are  we  to  do?"  insisted  that  lady;  "who 
is  to  tell  her  what  he  is  ?  How  is  it  to  be  kept  from 
her,  indeed  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  "  there  will  be  more  articles. 
Mr.  Merrill  says  so.  It  seems  there  is  to  be  a  great  politi 
cal  struggle  in  that  state." 

"Precisely,"  said  Miss  Lucretia,  sadly.  "And  who 
ever  tells  the  girl  will  forfeit  her  friendship.  I — I  am 
very  fond  of  her,"  and  here  she  applied  again  to  the 
reticule. 

"  Whom  would  she  believe  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Merrill, 
whose  estimation  of  Miss  Lucretia  was  increasing  by 
leaps  and  bounds. 

"  Precisely,"  agreed  Miss  Lucretia.  "  But  she  must 
hear  about  it  sometime." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  let  her  hear  ? "  suggested 
Mrs.  Merrill ;  "  we  cannot  very  well  soften  that  shock. 
I  talked  the  matter  over  a  little  with  Mr.  Merrill,  and 
he  thinks  that  we  must  take  time  over  it,  Miss  Penniman. 
Whatever  we  do,  we  must  not  act  hastily." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Lucretia,  "  as  I  said,  I  am  very  fond 
of  the  girl,  and  I  am  willing  to  do  my  duty,  whatever  it 
may  be.  And  I  also  wished  to  say,  Mrs.  Merrill,  that 


OF  AN  UNEXPECTED  KETUKN  361 

I  have  thought  about  another  matter  very  carefully. 
I  am  willing  to  provide  for  the  girl.  I  am  getting  too 
old  to  live  alone.  I  am  getting  too  old,  indeed,  to  do 
my  work  properly,  as  I  used  to  do  it.  I  should  like 
to  have  her  to  live  with  me." 

"  She  has  become  as  one  of  my  own  daughters,"  said 
Mrs.  Merrill.  Yet  she  knew  that  this  offer  of  Miss 
Lucretia's  was  not  one  to  be  lightly  set  aside,  and  that 
it  might  eventually  be  the  best  solution  of  the  problem. 
After  some  further  earnest  discussion  it  was  agreed  be 
tween  them  that  the  matter  was,  if  possible,  to  be  kept 
from  Cynthia  for  the  present,  and  when  Miss  Lucretia 
departed  Mrs.  Merrill  promised  her  an  early  return  of  her 
call. 

Mrs.  Merrill  had  another  talk  with  her  husband,  which 
lasted  far  into  the  night.  This  talk  was  about  Cynthia 
alone,  and  the  sorrow  which  threatened  her.  These  good 
people  knew  that  it  would  be  no  light  thing  to  break  the 
faith  of  such  as  she,  and  they  made  her  troubles  their 
own. 

Cynthia  little  guessed  as  she  exchanged  raillery  with 
Mr.  Merrill  the  next  morning  that  he  had  risen  fifteen  min 
utes  earlier  than  usual  to  search  his  newspaper  through. 
He  would  read  no  more  at  breakfast,  so  he  declared  in 
answer  to  his  daughters'  comments  ;  it  was  a  bad  habit 
which  did  not  agree  with  his  digestion.  It  was  some 
thing  new  for  Mr.  Merrill  to  have  trouble  with  his 
digestion. 

There  was  another  and  scarcely  less  serious  phase  of 
the  situation  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merrill  had  yet  to  dis 
cuss  between  them  —  a  phase  of  which  Miss  Lucretia 
Penniman  knew  nothing. 

The  day  before  Miss  Sadler's  school  was  to  reopen  — 
nearly  a  week  before  the  Harvard  term  was  to  commence 
—  a  raging,  wet  snowstorm  came  charging  in  from  the 
Atlantic.  Snow  had  no  terrors  for  a  Coniston  person,  and 
Cynthia  had  been  for  her  walk.  Returning  about  five 
o'clock,  she  was  surprised  to  have  the  door  opened  for  her 
by  Susan  herself. 


362  COSTISTON 

"  What  a  picture  you  are  in  those  furs ! "  she  cried, 
with  an  intention  which  for  the  moment  was  lost  upon 
Cynthia.  "  I  thought  you  would  never  come.  You  must 
have  walked  to  Dedham  this  time.  Who  do  you  think  is 
here?  Mr.  Worthington." 

"  Mr.  Worthington  !  " 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  entertain  him,  but  I  am  afraid 
I  have  been  a  very  poor  substitute.  However,  I  have  per 
suaded  him  to  stay  for  supper." 

"  It  needed  but  little  persuasion,"  said  Bob,  appearing 
in  the  doorway.  All  the  snowstorms  of  the  wide  Atlantic 
could  not  have  brought  such  color  to  her  cheeks.  Cynthia, 
for  all  her  confusion  at  the  meeting,  had  not  lost  her 
faculty  of  observation.  He  seemed  to  have  changed  again, 
even  during  the  brief  time  he  had  been  absent.  His  tone 
was  grave. 

"  He  needs  to  be  cheered  up,  Cynthia,"  Susan  went  on, 
as  though  reading  her  thoughts.  "  I  have  done  my  best, 
without  success.  He  won't  confess  to  me  that  he  has 
come  back  to  make  up  some  of  his  courses.  I  don't  mind 
owning  that  I've  got  to  finish  a  theme  to  be  handed  in  to 
morrow." 

With  these  words  Susan  departed,  and  left  them  stand 
ing  in  the  hall  together.  Bob  took  hold  of  Cynthia's 
jacket  and  helped  her  off  with  it.  He  could  read  neither 
pleasure  nor  displeasure  in  her  face,  though  he  searched 
it  anxiously  enough.  It  was  she  who  led  the  way  into 
the  parlor  and  seated  herself,  as  before,  on  one  of  the  un 
compromising,  straight-backed  chairs.  Whatever  inward 
tremors  the  surprise  of  this  visit  had  given  her,  she  looked 
at  him  clearly  and  steadily,  completely  mistress  of  herself, 
as  ever. 

"  I  thought  your  holidays  did  not  end  until  next  week," 
she  said. 

"They  do  not." 

"  Then  why  are  you  here?" 

"  Because  I  could  not  stay  away,  Cynthia,"  he  answered. 
It  was  not  the  manner  in  which  he  would  have  said  it 
a  month  ago.  There  was  a  note  of  intense  earnestness  in 


OF  AN  UNEXPECTED  EETUEN  363 

his  voice  now,  and  to  it  she  could  make  no  light  reply. 
Confronted  again  with  an  unexpected  situation,  she  could 
not  decide  at  once  upon  a  line  of  action. 

"When  did  you  leave  Brampton?"  she  asked,  to  gain 
time.  But  with  the  words  her  thoughts  flew  to  the  hill 
country. 

"  This  morning,"  he  said,  "  on  the  early  train.  They 
have  three  feet  of  snow  up  there."  He,  too,  seemed  glad 
of  a  respite  from  something.  "They're  having  a  great 
fuss  in  Brampton  about  a  new  teacher  for  the  village 
school.  Miss  Goddard  has  got  married.  Did  you  know 
Miss  Goddard,  the  lanky  one  with  the  glasses  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Cynthia,  beginning  to  be  amused  at  the 
turn  the  conversation  was  taking. 

"  Well,  they  can't  find  anybody  smart  enough  to  replace 
Miss  Goddard.  Old  Ezra  Graves,  who's  on  the  prudential 
committee,  told  Ephraim  they  ought  to  get  you.  I  was 
in  the  post-office  when  they  were  talking  about  it.  Just 
see  what  a  reputation  for  learning  you  have  in  Brampton !  " 

Cynthia  was  plainly  pleased  by  the  compliment. 

"  How  is  Cousin  Eph  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Happy  as  a  lark,"  said  Bob,  "  the  greatest  living 
authority  in  New  England  on  the  Civil  War.  He's  made 
the  post-office  the  most  popular  social  club  I  ever  saw. 
If  anybody's  missing  in  Brampton,  you  can  nearly  always 
find  them  in  the  post-office.  But  I  smiled  at  the  notion 
of  your  being  a  schoolma'am." 

"  I  don't  see  anything  so  funny  about  it,"  replied  Cyn 
thia,  smiling  too.  "  Why  shouldn't  I  be  ?  I  should  like  it." 

"  You  were  made  for  something  different,"  he  answered 
quietly. 

It  was  a  subject  she  did  not  choose  to  discuss  with  him, 
and  dropped  her  lashes  before  the  plainly  spoken  admira 
tion  in  his  eyes.  So  a  silence  fell  between  them,  broken 
only  by  the  ticking  of  the  agate  clock  on  the  mantel  and 
the  music  of  sleigh-bells  in  a  distant  street.  Presently 
the  sleigh-bells  died  away,  and  it  seemed  to  Cynthia  that 
the  sound  of  her  own  heart-beats  must  be  louder  than  the 
ticking  of  the  clock.  Her  tact  had  suddenly  deserted  her, 


364  CONISTON 

without  reason,  and  she  did  not  dare  to  glance  again  at 
Bob  as  he  sat  under  the  lamp.  That  minute — for  it 
was  a  full  minute  —  was  charged  with  a  presage  which 
she  could  not  grasp.  Cynthia's  instincts  were  very  keen. 
She  understood,  of  course,  that  he  had  cut  short  his 
holiday  to  come  to  see  her,  and  she  might  have  dealt  with 
him  had  that  been  all.  But  —  through  that  sixth  sense 
with  which  some  women  are  endowed  —  she  knew  that 
something  troubled  him.  He,  too,  had  never  yet  been  at 
a  loss  for  words. 

The  silence  forced  him  to  speak  first,  and  he  tried  to 
restore  the  light  tone  to  the  conversation. 

"Cousin  Ephraim  gave  me  a  piece  of  news,"  he  said. 
"  Ezra  Graves  got  it,  too.  He  told  us  you  were  down  in 
Boston  at  a  fashionable  school.  Cousin  Ephraim  knows 
a  thing  or  two.  He  says  he  always  callated  you  were 
cut  out  for  a  fine  lady." 

"  Bob,"  said  Cynthia,  nerving  herself  for  the  ordeal, 
"  did  you  tell  Cousin  Ephraim  you  had  seen  me  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  and  Ezra  that  I  had  been  a  constant  and 
welcome  visitor  at  this  house." 

"  Did  you  tell  your  father  that  yon  had  seen  me  ?  " 

This  was  too  serious  a  question  to  avoid. 

"No,  I  did  not.  There  was  no  reason  why  I  should 
have." 

"  There  was  every  reason,"  said  Cynthia,  "  and  you 
know  it.  Did  you  tell  him  why  you  came  to  Boston 
to-day  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Why  does  he  think  you  came  ?  " 

"  He  doesn't  think  anything  about  it,"  said  Bob.  "  He 
went  off  to  Chicago  yesterday  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the 
board  of  directors  of  a  western  railroad." 

"  And  so,"  she  said  reproachfully,  "  you  slipped  off  as 
soon  as  his  back  was  turned.  I  would  not  have  believed 
that  of  you,  Bob.  Do  you  think  that  was  fair  to  him  or 
me?" 

Bob  Worthington  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stood  over  her. 
She  had  spoken  to  a  boy,  but  she  had  aroused  a  man,  and 


OF  AN  UNEXPECTED  RETURN  365 

she  felt  an  amazing  thrill  at  the  result.  The  muscles  in 
his  face  tightened,  and  deepened  the  lines  about  his  mouth, 
and  a  fire  was  lighted  about  his  eyes. 

"  Cynthia,"  he  said  slowly,  "  even  you  shall  not  speak 
to  me  like  that.  If  I  had  believed  it  were  right,  if  I 
had  believed  that  it  would  have  done  any  good  to  you 
or  me,  I  should  have  told  my  father  the  moment  I  got  to 
Brampton.  In  affairs  of  this  kind  —  in  a  matter  of  so 
much  importance  in  my  life,"  he  continued,  choosing  his 
words  carefully,  "  I  am  likely  to  know  whether  I  am  doing 
right  or  wrong.  If  my  mother  were  alive,  I  am  sure  that 
she  would  approve  of  this — this  friendship." 

Having  got  so  far,  he  paused.  Cynthia  felt  that  she 
was  trembling,  as  though  the  force  and  feeling  that  was 
in  him  had  charged  her  also. 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  come  so  soon,"  he  went  on,  "  but 
—  I  had  a  reason  for  coming.  I  knew  that  you  did  not 
want  me." 

"  You  know  that  that  is  not  true,  Bob,"  she  faltered. 
His  next  words  brought  her  to  her  feet. 

"  Cynthia,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  shaken  by  the  intensity 
of  his  passion,  "  I  came  because  I  love  you  better  than  all 
the  world  —  because  I  always  will  love  you  so.  I  came  to 
protect  you,  and  care  for  you  whatever  happens.  I  did 
not  mean  to  tell  you  so,  now.  But  it  cannot  matter, 
Cynthia  !  " 

He  seized  her,  roughly  indeed,  in  his  arms,  but  his  very 
roughness  was  a  proof  of  the  intensity  of  his  love.  For 
an  instant  she  lay  palpitating  against  him,  and  as  long  as 
he  lives  he  will  remember  the  first  exquisite  touch  of  her 
firm  but  supple  figure  and  the  marvellous  communion  'of 
her  lips.  A  current  from  the  great  store  that  was  in  her, 
pent  up  and  all  unknown,  ran  through  him,  and  then  she 
had  struggled  out  of  his  arms  and  fled,  leaving  him  stand 
ing  alone  in  the  parlor. 

It  is  true  that  such  things  happen,  and  no  man  or  woman 
may  foretell  the  day  or  the  hour  thereof.  Cynthia  fled 
up  the  stairs,  miraculously  arriving  unnoticed  at  her  own 
room,  and  locked  the  door  and  flung  herself  on  the  bed. 


CONISTON 

Tears  came  —  tears  of  shame,  of  joy,  of  sorrow,  of  rejoicing, 
of  regret ;  tears  that  burned,  and  yet  relieved  her,  tears  that 
pained  while  they  comforted.  Had  she  sinned  beyond  the 
pardon  of  heaven,  or  had  she  committed  a  supreme  act  of 
right?  One  moment  she  gloried  in  it,  and  the  next  up 
braided  herself  bitterly.  Her  heart  beat  with  tumult,  and 
again  seemed  to  stop.  Such,  though  the  words  but  faintly 
describe  them,  were  her  feelings,  for  thoughts  were  still 
to  emerge  out  of  chaos.  Love  comes  like  a  flame  to  few 
women,  but  so  it  came  to  Cynthia  Wetherell,  and  burned 
out  for  a  while  all  reason. 

Only  for  a  while.  Generations  which  had  practised  self- 
restraint  were  strong  in  her  —  generations  accustomed, 
too,  to  thinking  out,  so  far  as  in  them  lay,  the  logical  con 
sequences  of  their  acts ;  generations  ashamed  of  these 
very  instants  when  nature  has  chosen  to  take  command. 
After  a  time  had  passed,  during  which  the  world  might 
have  shuffled  from  its  course,  Cynthia  sat  up  in  the 
darkness.  How  was  she  ever  to  face  the  light  again  ? 
Reason  had  returned. 

So  she  sat  for  another  space,  and  thought  of  what  she 
had  done  —  thought  with  a  surprising  calmness  now  which 
astonished  her.  Then  she  thought  of  what  she  would  do, 
for  there  was  an  ordeal  still  to  be  gone  through.  Although 
she  shrank  from  it,  she  no  longer  lacked  the  courage  to 
endure  it.  Certain  facts  began  to  stand  out  clearly  from 
the  confusion.  The  least  important  and  most  immediate 
of  these  was  that  she  would  have  to  face  him,  and  inci 
dentally  face  the  world  in  the  shape  of  the  Merrill  family, 
at  supper.  She  rose  mechanically  and  lighted  the  gas  and 
bathed  her  face  and  changed  her  gown.  Then  she  heard 
Susan's  voice  at  the  door. 

"  Cynthia,  what  in  the  world  are  you  doing  ?  " 

Cynthia  opened  the  door  and  the  sisters  entered.  Was 
it  possible  that  they  did  not  read  her  terrible  secret  in  her 
face?  Apparently  not.  Susan  was  busy  commenting  on 
the  qualities  and  peculiarities  of  Mr.  Robert  Worthington, 
and  showering  uponCynthia  a  hundred  questions  which  she 
answered  she  knew  not  how ;  but  neither  Susan  nor  Jane, 


OF  AN  UNEXPECTED  EETURN  367 

wonderful  as  it  may  seem,  betrayed  any  suspicion.  Did 
he  send  the  flowers  ?  Cynthia  had  not  asked  him.  Did  he 
want  to  know  whether  she  read  the  newspapers?  He 
had  asked  Susan  that,  before  Cynthia  came.  Susan  was 
ready  to  repeat  the  whole  of  her  conversation  with  him. 
Why  did  he  seem  so  particular  about  newspapers?  Had 
he  notions  that  girls  ought  not  to  read  them? 

The  significance  of  Bob's  remarks  about  newspapers 
was  lost  upon  Cynthia  then.  Not  till  afterward  did  she 
think  of  them,  or  connect  them  with  his  unexpected  visit. 
Then  the  supper  bell  rang,  and  they  went  downstairs. 

The  reader  will  be  spared  Mr.  Worthington's  feelings 
after  Cynthia  left  him,  although  they  were  intense  enough, 
and  absorbing  and  far-reaching  enough.  He  sat  down  on 
a  chair  and  buried  his  head  in  his  hands.  His  impulse  had 
been  to  leave  the  house  and  return  again  on  the  morrow, 
but  he  remembered  that  he  had  been  asked  to  stay  for 
supper,  and  that  such  a  proceeding  would  cause  comment. 
At  length  he  got  up  and  stood  before  the  fire,  his  thoughts 
still  above  the  clouds,  and  it  was  thus  that  Mr.  Merrill 
found  him  when  he  entered. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  that  gentleman,  genially,  not 
knowing  in  the  least  who  Bob  was,  but  prepossessed  in  his 
favor  by  the  way  he  came  forward  and  shook  his  hand  and 
looked  him  clearly  in  the  eye. 

"  I'm  Robert  Worthington,  Mr.  Merrill,"  said  he. 

"Eh!"  Mr.  Merrill  gasped,  "eh!  Oh,  certainly,  how 
do  you  do,  Mr.  Worthington  ?  "  Mr.  Merrill  would  have 
been  polite  to  a  tax  collector  or  a  sheriff.  He  separated 
the  office  from  the  man,  which  ought  not  always  to  be 
done.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Worthington.  Well, 
well,  bad  storm,  isn't  it  ?  I  had  an  idea  the  college  didn't 
open  until  next  week." 

"  Mr.  Worthington's  going  to  stay  for  supper,  Papa,'" 
said  Susan,  entering. 

"  Good  !  "  cried  Mr.  Merrill.  "  Capital !  You  won't 
miss  the  old  folks  after  supper,  will  you,  girls?  Your 
mother  wantu  me  to  go  to  a  whist  party." 

"  It  can't  be  helped,  Carry,"  said  Mr.  Merrill  to   his 


368  CONISTON 

wife,  as  they  walked  up  the  hill  to  a  neighbor's  that 
evening. 

"  He's  in  love  with  Cynthia,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  some 
what  sadly ;  "  it's  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face,  Ste 
phen." 

"  That  isn't  very  plain.  Suppose  he  is  !  You  can  dam 
a  mountain  stream,  but  you  can't  prevent  it  reaching  the 
sea,  as  we  used  to  say  when  I  was  a  boy  in  Edmundton. 
I  like  Bob,"  said  Mr.  Merrill,  with  his  usual  weakness  for 
Christian  names,  "and  he  isn't  any  more  like  Dudley 
Worthington  than  I  am.  If  you  were  to  ask  me,  I'd  say 
he  couldn't  do  a  better  thing  than  marry  Cynthia." 

"  Stephen ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Merrill.  Butin  her  heart  she 
thought  so,  too.  "  What  will  Mr.  Worthington  say  when 
he  hears  the  young  man  has  been  coming  to  our  house  to 
see  her?" 

Mr.  Merrill  had  been  thinking  of  that  very  thing,  but 
with  more  amusement  than  concern. 

To  return  to  Mr.  Merrill's  house,  the  three  girls  and 
the  one  young  man  were  seated  around  the  fire,  and 
their  talk,  merrily  as  it  had  begun,  was  becoming  minute 
by  minute  more  stilted.  This  was  largely  the  fault  of 
Susan,  who  would  not  be  happy  until  she  had  taken  Jane 
upstairs  and  left  Mr.  Worthington  and  Cynthia  together. 
This  matter  had  been  arranged  between  the  sisters  before 
supper.  Susan  found  her  opening  at  last,  and  upbraided 
Jane  for  her  unfinished  theme ;  Jane,  having  learned  her 
lesson  well,  accused  Susan.  But  Cynthia,  who  saw 
through  the  ruse,  declared  that  both  themes  were  finished. 
Susan,  naturally  indignant  at  such  ingratitude,  denied 
this.  The  manoeuvre,  in  short,  was  executed  very  clumsily 
and  very  obviously,  but  executed  nevertheless  —  the  sisters 
marching  out  of  the  room  under  a  fire  of  protests.  The 
reader,  too,  will  no  doubt  think  it  a  very  obvious  manoeuvre, 
but  some  things  are  managed  badly  in  life  as  well  as  in 
books. 

Cynthia  and  Bob  were  left  alone :  left,  moreover,  in 
mortal  terror  of  each  other.  It  is  comparatively  easy  to 
open  the  door  of  a  room  and  rush  into  a  lady's  arms  — 


OF  AN  UNEXPECTED  RETURN  369 

if  the  lady  be  willing  and  alone.  But  to  be  abandoned,  as 
Susan  had  abandoned  them,  and  with  such  obvious  intent, 
creates  quite  a  different  atmosphere.  Bob  had  dared  to 
hope  for  such  an  opportunity :  had  made  up  his  mind  dur 
ing  supper,  while  striving  to  be  agreeable,  just  what  he 
would  do  if  the  opportunity  came.  Instead,  all  he  could 
do  was  to  sit  foolishly  in  his  chair  and  look  at  the  coals,  not 
so  much  as  venturing  to  turn  his  head  until  the  sound  of 
footsteps  had  died  away  on  the  upper  floors.  It  was  Cyn 
thia  who  broke  the  silence  and  took  command  — a  very 
different  Cynthia  from  the  girl  who  had  thrown  herself  on 
the  bed  not  three  hours  before.  She  did  not  look  at  him, 
but  stared  with  determination  into  the  fire. 

"  Bob,  you  must  go,"  she  said. 

"  Go !  "  he  cried.  Her  voice  loosed  the  fetters  of  his 
passion,  and  he  dared  to  seize  the  hand  that  lay  on  the  arm 
of  her  chair.  She  did  not  resist  this. 

"  Yes,  you  must  go.  You  should  not  have  stayed  for 
supper." 

"  Cynthia,"  he  said,  "  how  can  I  leave  you  ?  I  will  not 
leave  you." 

"  But  you  can  and  must,"  she  replied. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  at  her  in  dismay. 

"You  know  the  reason,"  she  answered. 

"Know  it?"  he  cried.  "I  know  why  I  should  stay. 
I  know  that  I  love  you  with  my  whole  heart  and  soul. 
I  know  that  I  love  you  as  few  men  have  ever  loved  —  and 
that  you  are  the  one  woman  among  millions  who  can 
inspire  such  a  love." 

"  No,  Bob,  no,"  she  said,  striving  hard  to  keep  her  head, 
withdrawing  her  hand  that  it  might  not  betray  the  treason 
of  her  lips.  Aware,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  of  the  absurd 
ity  of  the  source  of  what  she  was  to  say,  for  a  trace  of  a 
smile  was  about  her  mouth  as  she  gazed  at  the  coals. 
"  You  will  get  over  this.  You  are  not  yet  out  of  college, 
and  many  such  fancies  happen  there." 

For  the  moment  he  was  incapable  of  speaking,  incapable 
of  finding  an  answer  sufficiently  emphatic.  How  was  he 
to  tell  her  of  the  rocks  upon  which  his  love  was  built  ? 


370  CONISTON 

How  was  he  to  declare  that  the  very  perils  which  threat 
ened  her  had  made  a  man  of  him,  with  all  of  a  man's 
yearning  to  share  these  perils  and  shield  her  from  them  ? 
How  was  he  to  speak  at  all  of  those  perils  ?  He  did  not 
declaim,  yet  when  he  spoke,  an  enduring  sincerity  which 
she  could  not  deny  was  in  his  voice. 

"  You  know  in  your  heart  that  what  you  say  is  not  true, 
Cynthia.  Whatever  happens,  I  shall  always  love  you." 

Whatever  happens  !  She  shuddered  at  the  words,  re 
minding  her  as  they  did  of  all  her  vague  misgivings  and 
fears. 

"  Whatever  happens  !  "  she  found  herself  repeating  them 
involuntarily. 

"  Yes,  whatever  happens  I  will  love  you  truly  and  faith 
fully.  I  will  never  desert  you,  never  deny  you,  as  long  as 
I  live.  And  you  love  me,  Cynthia,"  he  cried,  "  you  love 
me,  I  know  it." 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered,  her  breath  coming  fast.  He 
was  on  his  feet  now,  dangerously  near  her,  and  she  rose 
swiftly  to  avoid  him.  She  turned  her  head,  that  he  might 
not  read  the  denial  in  her  eyes,  and  yet  had  to  look  at  him 
again,  for  he  was  coming  toward  her  quickly.  "Don't 
touch  me,"  she  said,  "don't  touch  me." 

He  stopped,  and  looked  at  her  so  pitifully  that  she  could 
scarce  keep  back  her  tears. 

"  You  do  love  me,"  he  repeated. 

So  they  stood  for  a  moment,  while  Cynthia  made  a 
supreme  effort  to  speak  calmly. 

"  Listen,  Bob,"  she  said  at  last,  "  if  you  ever  wish  to 
see  me  again,  you  must  do  as  I  say.  You  must  write  to 
your  father,  and  tell  him  what  you  have  done  and  —  and 
what  you  wish  to  do.  You  may  come  to  me  and  tell  me 
his  answer,  but  you  must  not  come  to  me  before."  She 
would  have  said  more,  but  her  strength  was  almost  gone. 
Yes,  and  more  would  have  implied  a  promise  or  a  conces 
sion.  She  would  not  bind  herself  even  by  a  hint.  But 
of  this  she  was  sure  :  that  she  would  not  be  the  means  of 
wrecking  his  opportunities.  "And  now  —  you  must  go." 

He  stayed  where  he  was,  though  his  blood  leaped  within 


OF  AN  UNEXPECTED  RETURN  371 

him,  his  admiration  and  respect  for  the  girl  outran  his 
passion.  Robert  Worthington  was  a  gentleman. 

"  I  will  do  as  you  say,  Cynthia,"  he  answered,  "  but  I 
am  doing  it  for  you.  Whatever  my  father's  reply  may 
be  will  not  change  my  love  or  my  intentions.  For  I  am 
determined  that  you  shall  be  my  wife." 

With  these  words,  and  one  long,  lingering  look,  he 
turned  and  left  her.  He  had  lacked  the  courage  to  speak 
of  his  father's  bitterness  and  animosity.  Who  will  blame 
him  ?  Cynthia  thought  none  the  less  of  him  for  not  tell 
ing  her.  There  was,  indeed,  no  need  now  to  describe 
Dudley  Worthington's  feelings. 

When  the  door  had  closed  she  stole  to  the  window,  and 
listened  to  his  footfalls  in  the  snow  until  she  heard  them 
no  more. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN  WHICH  MISS   SADLER   WRITES   A  LETTER 

THE  next  morning  Cynthia's  heart  was  heavy  as  she 
greeted  her  new  friends  at  Miss  Sadler's  school.  Life 
had  made  a  woman  of  her  long  ago,  while  these  girls  had 
yet  been  in  short  dresses,  and  now  an  experience  had  come 
to  her  which  few,  if  any,  of  these  could  ever  know.  It 
was  of  no  use  for  her  to  deny  to  herself  that  she  loved 
Bob  Worthington  —  loved  him  with  the  full  intensity  of 
the  strong  nature  that  was  hers.  To  how  many  of  these 
girls  would  come  such  a  love  ?  and  how  many  would  be 
called  upon  to  make  such  a  renunciation  as  hers  had  been? 
No  wonder  she  felt  out  of  place  among  them,  and  once 
more  the  longing  to  fly  away  to  Coniston  almost  over 
came  her.  Jethro  would  forgive  her,  she  knew,  and 
stretch  out  his  arms  to  receive  her,  and  understand  that 
some  trouble  had  driven  her  to  him. 

She  was  aroused  by  some  one  calling  her  name  —  some 
one  whose  voice  sounded  strangely  familiar.  Cynthia  was 
perhaps  the  only  person  in  the  school  that  day  who  did 
not  know  that  Miss  Janet  Duncan  had  entered  it.  Miss 
Sadler  certainly  knew  it,  and  asked  Miss  Duncan  very 
particularly  about  her  father  and  mother  and  even  her 
brother.  Miss  Sadler  knew,  even  before  Janet's  unex 
pected  arrival,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Duncan  had  come  to 
Boston  after  Christmas,  and  had  taken  a  large  house  in 
the  Back  Bay  in  order  to  be  near  their  son  at  Harvard. 
Mrs.  Duncan  was,  in  fact,  a  Bostonian,  and  more  at  home 
there  than  at  any  other  place. 

Miss  Sadler  observed  with  a  great  deal  of  astonishment 
the  warm  embrace  that  Janet  bestowed  on  Cynthia.  The 

STfc 


IN  WHICH  MISS  SADLER  WRITES  A  LETTER    373 

occurrence  started  in  Miss  Sadler  a  train  of  thought,  as  a 
result  of  which  she  left  the  drawing-room  where  these 
reunions  were  held,  and  went  into  her  own  private  study 
to  write  a  note.  This  she  addressed  to  Mrs.  Alexander 
Duncan,  at  a  certain  number  on  Beacon  Street,  and  sent 
it  out  to  be  posted  immediately.  In  the  meantime,  Janet 
Duncan  had  seated  herself  on  the  sofa  beside  Cynthia,  not 
having  for  an  instant  ceased  to  talk  to  her.  Of  what  use 
to  write  a  romance,  when  they  unfolded  themselves  so 
beautifully  in  real  life !  Here  was  the  country  girl  she 
had  seen  in  Washington  already  in  a  fine  way  to  become 
the  princess,  and  in  four  months !  Janet  would  not  have 
thought  it  possible  for  any  one  to  change  so  much  in  such 
a  time.  Cynthia  listened,  and  wondered  what  language 
Miss  Duncan  would  use  if  she  knew  how  great  and  how 
complete  that  change  had  been.  Romances,  Cynthia 
thought  sadly,  were  one  thing  to  theorize  about  and  quite 
another  thing  to  endure  —  and  smiled  at  the  thought. 
But  Miss  Duncan  had  no  use  for  a  heroine  without  a  heart 
ache. 

It  is  not  improbable  that  Miss  Janet  Duncan  may  appear 
with  Miss  Sally  Broke  in  another  volume.  The  style  of 
her  conversation  is  known,  and  there  is  no  room  to  repro 
duce  it  here.  She,  too,  had  a  heart,  but  she  was  a  young 
woman  given  to  infatuations,  as  Cynthia  rightly  guessed. 
Cynthia  must  spend  many  afternoons  at  her  house  —  lunch 
with  her,  drive  with  her.  For  one  omission  Cynthia  was 
thankful  :  she  did  not  mention  Bob  Worthington's  name. 
There  was  the  romance  under  Miss  Duncan's  nose,  and  she 
did  not  see  it.  It  is  frequently  so  with  romancers. 

Cynthia's  impassiveness,  her  complete  poise,  had  fasci 
nated  Miss  Duncan  with  the  others.  Had  there  been 
nothing  beneath  that  exterior,  Janet  would  never  have 
guessed  it,  and  she  would  have  been  quite  as  happy. 
Cynthia  saw  very  clearly  that  Mr.  Worthington  or  no 
other  man  or  woman  could  force  Bob  to  marry  Janet. 

The  next  morning,  in  such  intervals  as  her  studies  per 
mitted,  Janet  continued  her  attentions  to  Cynthia.  That 
same  morning  she  had  brought  a  note  from  her  father  to 


374  CONISTON 

Miss  Sadler,  of  the  contents  of  which  Janet  knew  nothing. 
Miss  Sadler  retired  into  her  study  to  read  it,  and  two 
newspaper  clippings  fell  out  of  it  under  the  paper-cutter. 
This  was  the  note  :  — 

"MY  DEAR  Miss  SADLER  :  Mrs.  Duncan  has  referred 
your  note  to  me,  and  I  enclose  two  clippings  which  speak 
for  themselves.  Miss  Wetherell,  I  believe,  stands  in  the 
relation  of  ward  to  the  person  to  whom  they  refer,  and 
her  father  was  a  sort  of  political  assistant  to  this  person. 
Although,  as  you  say,  we  are  from  that  part  of  the 
country  "  (Miss  Sadler  had  spoken  of  the  Duncans  as  the 
people  of  importance  there),  "it  was  by  the  merest  acci 
dent  that  Miss  Wetherell's  connection  with  this  Jethro 
Bass  was  brought  to  my  notice. 

"  Sincerely  yours, 

"ALEXANDER    DUNCAN." 


It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  there  were  people  in  the 
world  who  could  snub  Miss  Sadler ;  and  there  could  be  no 
doubt,  'from  the  manner  in  which  she  laid  the  letter  down 
and  took  up  the  clippings,  that  Miss  Sadler  felt  snubbed : 
equally,  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  revenge  would 
fall  on  other  shoulders  than  Mr.  Duncan's.  And  when 
Miss  Sadler  proceeded  to  read  the  clippings,  her  hair 
would  have  stood  on  end  with  horror  had  it  not  been  so 
efficiently  plastered  down.  Miss  Sadler  seized  her  pen, 
and  began  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Merrill.  Miss  Sadler's  knowl 
edge  of  the  proprieties  —  together  with  other  qualifica 
tions —  had  made  her  school  what  it  was.  No  Cynthia 
Wetherells  had  ever  before  entered  its  sacred  portals,  or 
should  again. 

The  first  of  these  clippings  was  the  article  containing 
the  arraignment  of  Jethro  Bass  which  Mr.  Merrill  had 
shown  to  his  wife,  and  which  had  been  the  excuse  for 
Miss  Penniman's  call.  The  second  was  one  which  Mr. 
Duncan  had  clipped  from  the  Newcastle  G-uardian  of  the 
day  before,  and  gave,  from  Mr.  Worthington's  side,  a 


IN  WHICH  MISS  SADLER  WRITES  A  LETTER    375 

very  graphic  account  of  the  conflict  which  was  to  tear  the 
state  asunder.  The  railroads  were  tired  of  paying  toll  to 
the  chief  of  a  band  of  thieves  and  cutthroats,  to  a  man 
who  had  long  throttled  the  state  which  had  nourished 
him,  to  —  in  short,  to  Jethro  Bass.  Miss  Sadler  was  not 
much  interested  in  the  figures  and  metaphors  of  political 
compositions.  Right  had  found  a  champion  —  the  article 
continued  —  in  Mr.  Isaac  D.  Worthington  of  Brampton, 
president  of  the  Truro  Road  and  owner  of  large  hold 
ings  elsewhere.  Mr.  Worthington,  backed  by  other 
respectable  property  interests,  would  fight  this  monster 
of  iniquity  to  the  death,  and  release  the  state  from  his 
thraldom.  Jethro  Bass,  the  article  alleged,  was  already 
about  his  abominable  work  —  had  long  been  so  —  as  in 
mockery  of  that  very  vigilance  which  is  said  to  be  the 
price  of  liberty.  His  agents  were  busy  in  every  town  of 
the  state,  seeing  to  it  that  the  slaves  of  Jethro  Bass  should 
be  sent  to  the  next  legislature. 

And  what  was  this  system  which  he  had  built  up 
among  these  rural  communities  ?  It  might  aptly  be 
called  the  System  of  Mortgages.  The  mortgage — dread 
name  for  a  dreadful  thing  —  was  the  chief  weapon  of  the 
monster.  Even  as  Jethro  Bass  held  the  mortgages  of 
Coniston  and  Tarleton  and  round  about,  so  his  lieuten 
ants  held  mortgages  in  every  town  and  hamlet  of  the 
state.  What  was  a  poor  farmer  to  do  ?  His  choice  was 
not  between  right  and  wrong,  but  between  a  roof  over 
the  heads  of  his  wife  and  children  and  no  roof.  He  must 
vote  for  the  candidate  of  Jethro  Bass  and  corruption  or 
become  a  homeless  wanderer.  How  the  gentleman  and 
his  other  respectable  backers  were  to  fight  the  system  the 
article  did  not  say.  Were  they  to  buy  up  all  the  mort 
gages  ?  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  intended  to  buy  up  enough 
of  these  to  count,  but  to  mention  this  would  be  to  betray 
the  methods  of  Mr.  Worthington's  reform.  The  first  bit 
ter  frontier  fighting  between  the  advance  cohorts  of  the 
new  giant  and  the  old — the  struggle  for  the  caucuses  and 
the  polls  —  had  begun.  Miss  Sadler  cared  but  little  and 
understood  less  of  all  this  matter.  She  lingered  over  the 


376  CONISTON 

sentences  which  described  Jethro  Bass  as  a  monster  of  in 
iquity,  as  a  pariah  with  whom  decent  men  would  have  no 
intercourse,  and  in  the  heat  of  her  passion  that  one  who 
had  touched  him  had  gained  admittance  to  the  most  ex 
clusive  school  for  young  ladies  in  the  country  she  wrote 
a  letter. 

Miss  Sadler  wrote  the  letter,  and  three  hours  later  tore 
it  up  and  wrote  another  and  more  diplomatic  one.  Mrs. 
Merrill,  though  not  by  any  means  of  the  same  importance 
as  Mrs.  Duncan,  was  not  a  person  to  be  wantonly  offended, 
and  might  —  knowing  nothing  about  the  monster  —  in 
the  goodness  of  her  heart  have  taken  the  girl  into  her 
house.  Had  it  been  otherwise,  surely  Mrs.  Merrill  would 
not  have  had  the  effrontery  !  She  would  give  Mrs.  Merrill 
a  chance.  The  bell  of  release  from  studies  was  ringing 
as  she  finished  this  second  letter,  and  Miss  Sadler  in  her 
haste  forgot  to  enclose  the  clippings.  She  ran  out  in  time 
to  intercept  Susan  Merrill  at  the  door,  and  to  press  into 
her  hands  the  clippings  and  the  note,  with  a  request  to 
take  both  to  her  mother. 

Although  the  Duncans  dined  in  the  evening,  the  Mer 
rills  had  dinner  at  half-past  one  in  the  afternoon,  when 
the  girls  returned  from  school.  Mr.  Merrill  usually  came 
home,  but  he  had  gone  off  somewhere  for  this  particular 
day,  and  Mrs.  Merrill  had  a  sewing  circle.  The  girls  sat 
down  to  dinner  alone.  When  they  got  up  from  the  table, 
Susan  suddenly  remembered  the  note  which  she  had  left 
in  her  coat  pocket.  She  drew  out  the  clippings  with  it. 

"  I  wonder  what  Miss  Sadler  is  sending  mamma  clippings 
for,"  she  said.  "  Why,  Cynthia,  they're  about  your  uncle. 
Look  !  " 

And  she  handed  over  the  article  headed  "  Jethro  Bass." 
Jane,  who  had  quicker  intuitions  than  her  sister,  would 
have  snatched  it  from  Cynthia's  hand,  and  it  was  a  long 
time  before  Susan  forgave  herself  for  her  folly.  Thus 
Miss  Sadler  had  her  revenge. 

It  is  often  mercifully  ordained  that  the  mightiest  blows 
of  misfortune  are  tempered  for  us.  During  the  winter 
evenings  in  Coniston,  Cynthia  had  read  little  newspaper 


IN  WHICH  MISS  SADLER  WRITES  A  LETTER    377 

attacks  on  Jethro,  and  scorned  them  as  the  cowardly 
devices  of  enemies.  They  had  been,  indeed,  but  guarded 
and  covert  allusions  —  grimaces  from  a  safe  distance. 
Cynthia's  first  sensation  as  she  read  was  anger  —  anger 
so  intense  as  to  send  all  the  blood  in  her  body  rushing 
to  her  head.  But  what  was  this?  "  Right  had  found  a 
champion  at  last"  in  —  in  Isaac  D.  Worthington!  That 
was  the  first  blow,  and  none  but  Cynthia  knew  the  weight 
of  it.  It  sank  but  slowly  into  her  consciousness,  and 
slowly  the  blood  left  her  face,  slowly  but  surely :  left 
it  at  length  as  white  as  the  lace  curtain  of  the  window 
which  she  clutched  in  her  distress.  Words  which  some 
body  had  spoken  were  ringing  in  her  ears.  Whatever 
happens!  "  Whatever  happens  I  will  never  desert  you, 
never  deny  you,  as  long  as  I  live."  This,  then,  was  what 
he  had  meant  by  newspapers,  and  why  he  had  come  to 
her! 

The  sisters,  watching  her,  cried  out  in  dismay.  There 
was  no  need  to  tell  them  that  they  were  looking  on  at  a 
tragedy,  and  all  the  love  and  sympathy  in  their  hearts 
went  out  to  her. 

"Cynthia!  Cynthia!  What  is  it?  "  cried  Susan,  who, 
thinking  she  would  faint,  seized  her  in  her  arms.  "  What 
have  I  done?  " 

Cynthia  did  not  faint,  being  made  of  sterner  substance. 
Gently,  but  with  that  inexorable  instinct  of  her  kind 
which  compels  them  to  look  for  reliance  within  them 
selves  even  in  the  direst  of  extremities,  Cynthia  released 
herself  from  Susan's  embrace  and  put  a  hand  to  her 
forehead. 

"Will  you  leave  me  here  a  little  while  —  alcne?"  she 
said. 

It  was  Jane  now  who  drew  Susan  out  and  shut  the  door 
of  the  parlor  after  them.  In  utter  misery  they  waited  on 
the  stairs  while  Cynthia  fought  out  her  battle  for  herself. 

When  they  were  gone  she  sank  down  into  the  big  chair 
under  the  reading  lamp  —  the  very  chair  in  which  he  had 
sat  only  two  nights  before.  She  saw  now  with  a  terrible 
clearness  the  thing  which  for  so  long  had  been  but  a  vague 


378  CONISTON 

premonition  of  disaster,  and  for  a  while  she  forgot  the 
clippings.  And  when  after  a  space  the  touch  of  them  in 
her  hand  brought  them  back  to  her  remembrance,  she 
lacked  the  courage  to  read  them  through.  But  not  for 
long.  Suddenly  her  fear  of  them  gave  place  to  a  consum 
ing  hatred  of  the  man  who  had  inspired  these  articles :  of 
Isaac  D.  Worthington,  for  she  knew  that  he  must  have 
inspired  them.  And  then  she  began  again  to  read  them. 

Truth,  though  it  come  perverted  from  the  mouth  of  an 
enemy,  has  in  itself  a  note  to  which  the  soul  responds,  let 
the  mind  deny  as  vehemently  as  it  will.  Cynthia  read, 
and  as  she  read  her  body  was  shaken  with  sobs,  though 
the  tears  came  not.  Could  it  be  true?  Could  the  least 
particle  of  the  least  of  these  fearful  insinuations  be  true? 
Oh,  the  treason  of  those  whispers  in  a  voice  that  was  surely 
not  her  own,  and  yet  which  she  could  not  hush !  Was  it 
possible  that  such  things  could  be  printed  about  one  whom 
she  had  admired  and  respected  above  all  men  —  nay,  whom 
she  had  so  passionately  adored  from  childhood?  A  mon 
ster  of  iniquity,  a  pariah  !  The  cruel,  bitter  calumny  of 
those  names  !  Cynthia  thought  of  his  goodness  and  lov 
ing  kindness  and  his  charity  to  her  and  to  many  others. 
His  charity !  The  dreaded  voice  repeated  that  word,  and 
sent  a  thought  that  struck  terror  into  her  heart :  Whence 
had  come  the  substance  of  that  charity?  Then  came 
another  word  —  mortgage.  There  it  was  on  the  paper, 
and  at  sight  of  it  there  leaped  out  of  her  memory  a 
golden-green  poplar  shimmering  against  the  sky  and  the 
distant  blue  billows  of  mountains  in  the  west.  She  heard 
the  high-pitched  voice  of  a  woman  speaking  the  word,  and 
even  then  it  had  had  a  hateful  sound,  and  she  heard  her 
self  asking,  "Uncle  Jethro,  what  is  a  mortgage?"  He 
had  struck  his  horse  with  the  whip. 

Loyal  though  the  girl  was,  the  whispers  would  not 
hush,  nor  the  doubts  cease  to  assail  her.  What  if  ever 
so  small  a  portion  of  this  were  true?  Could  the  whole  of 
this  hideous  structure,  tier  resting  upon  tier,  have  been 
reared  without  something  of  a  foundation  ?  Fiercely 
though  she  told  herself  she  would  believe  none  of  it, 


IN  WHICH  MISS  SADLER  WRITES  A  LETTER    379 

fiercely  though  she  hated  Mr.  Worthington,  fervently 
though  she  repeated  aloud  that  her  love  for  Jethro  and 
her  faith  in  him  had  not  changed,  the  doubts  remained. 
Yet  they  remained  unacknowledged. 

An  hour  passed.  It  was  a  thing  beyond  belief  that  one 
hour  could  have  held  such  a  store  of  agony.  An  hour 
passed,  and  Cynthia  came  dry-eyed  from  the  parlor. 
Susan  and  Jane,  waiting  to  give  her  comfort  when  she 
was  recovered  a  little  from  this  unknown  but  overwhelm 
ing  affliction,  were  fain  to  stand  mute  when  they  saw  her : 
to  pay  a  silent  deference  to  one  whom  sorrow  had  lifted 
far  above  them  and  transfigured.  That  was  the  look  on 
Cynthia's  face.  She  went  up  the  stairs,  and  they  stood  in 
the  hall  not  knowing  what  to  do,  whispering  in  awe-struck 
voices.  They  were  still  there  when  Cynthia  came  down 
again,  dressed  for  the  street.  Jane  seized  her  by  the 
hand. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Cynthia  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  shall  be  back  by  five,"  said  Cynthia. 

She  went  up  the  hill,  and  across  to  old  Louisburg 
Square,  and  up  the  hill  again.  The  weather  had  cleared, 
the  violet-paned  windows  caught  the  slanting  sunlight 
and  flung  it  back  across  the  piles  of  snow.  It  was  a  day 
for  wedding-bells.  At  last  Cynthia  came  to  a  queerly 
fashioned  little  green  door  that  seemed  all  askew  with  the 
slanting  street,  and  rang  the  bell,  and  in  another  moment 
was  standing  on  the  threshold  of  Miss  Lucretia  Penni- 
man's  little  sitting  room.  To  Miss  Lucretia,  at  her  writ 
ing  table,  one  glance  was  sufficient.  She  rose  quickly  to 
meet  the  girl,  kissed  her  unresponsive  cheek,  and  led  her 
to  a  chair.  Miss  Lucretia  was  never  one  to  beat  about 
the  bush,  even  in  the  gravest  crises. 

"  You  have  read  the  articles,"  she  said. 

Read  them  !  During  her  walk  hither  Cynthia  had 
been  incapable  of  thought,  but  the  epithets  and  arraign 
ments  and  accusations,  the  sentences  and  paragraphs,  were 
printed  now  upon  her  brain,  never,  she  believed,  to  be 
effaced.  Every  step  of  the  way  she  had  been  uncon 
sciously  repeating  them. 


380  CONISTON 

"  Have  you  read  tliem  ?  "  asked  Cynthia. 

"  Yes,  my  dear." 

"  Has  everybody  read  them  ? "  Did  the  whole  world, 
then,  know  of  her  shame  ? 

"  I  am  glad  you  came  to  me,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Lucre- 
tia,  taking  her  hand.  "Have  you  talked  of  this  to  any  one 
else?" 

"  No,"  said  Cynthia,  simply. 

Miss  Lucretia  was  puzzled.  She  had  not  looked  for 
apathy,  but  she  did  not  know  all  of  Cynthia's  troubles. 
She  wondered  whether  she  had  misjudged  the  girl,  and 
was  misled  by  her  attitude. 

"  Cynthia,"  she  said,  with  a  briskness  meant  to  hide 
emotion  (for  Miss  Lucretia  had  emotions),  "I  am  a  lonely 
old  woman,  getting  too  old,  indeed,  to  tinish  the  task  of 
my  life.  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Merrill  the  other  day  to  ask 
her  if  she  would  let  you  come  and  live  with  me.  Will 
you?" 

Cynthia  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  Miss  Lucretia,  I  cannot,"  she  answered. 

"  I  won't  press  it  on  you  now,"  said  Miss  Lucretia. 

"  I  cannot,  Miss  Lucretia.     I'm  going  to  Coniston." 

"  Going  to  Coniston  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Lucretia. 

The  name  of  that  place  —  magic  name  once  so  replete 
with  visions  of  happiness  and  content  —  seemed  to  recall 
Cynthia's  spirit  from  its  flight.  Yes,  the  spirit  was  there, 
for  it  flashed  in  her  eyes  as  she  turned  and  looked  into 
Miss  Lucretia's  face. 

"  Are  these  the  articles  you  read  ?  "  she  asked,  taking 
the  clippings  from  her  muff. 

Miss  Lucretia  put  on  her  spectacles. 

"  I  have  seen  both  of  them,"  she  said. 

"  And  do  you  believe  what  they  say  about  —  about 
Jethro  Bass  ?  " 

Poor  Miss  Lucretia  !  For  once  in  her  life  she  was  at  a 
loss.  She,  too,  paid  a  deference  to  that  face,  young  as  it 
was.  She  had  robbed  herself  of  sleep  trying  to  make  up 
her  mind  what  she  would  say  upon  such  an  occasion  if  it 
came.  A  wonderful  virgin  faith  had  to  be  shattered,  and 


IN  WHICH  MISS  SADLER  WRITES  A  LETTER    381 

was  she  to  be  the  executioner  ?  She  loved  the  girl  with 
that  strange,  intense  affection  which  sometimes  comes  to 
the  elderly  and  the  lonely,  and  she  had  prayed  that  this 
cup  might  pass  from  her.  Was  it  possible  that  it  was  her 
own  voice  using  very  much  the  same  words  for  which  she 
had  rebuked  Mrs.  Merrill  ? 

"  Cynthia,"  she  said,  "  those  articles  were  written  by 
politicians,  in  a  political  controversy.  No  such  articles 
can  ever  be  taken  literally." 

"  Miss  Lucretia,  do  you  believe  what  it  says  about 
Jethro  Bass  ?  "  repeated  Cynthia. 

How  was  she  to  avoid  those  eyes?  They  pierced  into 
her  soul,  even  as  her  own  had  pierced  into  Mrs.  Merrill's. 
Oh,  Miss  Lucretia,  who  pride  yourself  on  your  plain  speak 
ing,  that  you  should  be  caught  quibbling  !  Miss  Lucretia 
blushed  for  the  first  time  in  many  years,  and  into  her  face 
came  the  light  of  battle. 

"  I  am  a  coward,  my  dear.  I  deserve  your  rebuke.  To 
the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief,  and  so  far  as  I  can 
judge  from  the  inquiries  I  have  undertaken,  Jethro  Bass 
has  made  his  living  and  gained  and  held  his  power  by  the 
methods  described  in  those  articles." 

Miss  Lucretia  took  off  her  spectacles  and  wiped  them. 
She  had  committed  a  fine  act  of  courage. 

Cynthia  stood  up. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  "that  is  what  I  wanted  to  know." 

"  But  —  "  cried  Miss  Lucretia,  in  amazement  and  appre 
hension,  "but  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 

"  I  am  going  to  Coniston,"  said  Cynthia,  "  to  ask  him 
if  those  things  are  true." 

"  To  ask  him  !  " 

"  Yes.  If  he  tells  me  they  are  true,  then  I  shall  believe 
them." 

"  If  he  tells  you  ?"  Miss  Lucretia  gasped.  Here  was  a 
courage  of  which  she  had  not  reckoned.  "  Do  you  think 
he  will  tell  you?" 

"  He  will  tell  me,  and  I  shall  believe  him,  Miss  Lucretia." 

"  You  are  a  remarkable  girl,  Cynthia,"  said  Miss  Lucre 
tia,  involuntarily.  Then  she  paused  for  a  moment.  "Sup- 


382  CONISTON 

pose  he  tells  you  they  are  true  ?  You  surely  can't  live 
with  him  again,  Cynthia." 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  am  going  to  desert  him,  Miss  Lu- 
cretia?"  she  asked.  "He  loves  me,  and  —  and  I  love 
him."  This  was  the  first  time  her  voice  had  faltered. 
"  He  kept  my  father  from  want  and  poverty,  and  he  has 
brought  me  up  as  a  daughter.  If  his  life  has  been  as  you 
say,  I  shall  make  my  own  living !  " 

"  How  ?  "  demanded  Miss  Lucretia,  the  practical  part  of 
her  coming  uppermost. 

"  I  shall  teach  school.  I  believe  I  can  get  a  position, 
in  a  place  where  I  can  see  him  often.  I  can  break  his 
heart,  Miss  Lucretia,  I  —  I  can  bring  sadness  to  myself, 
but  I  will  not  desert  him." 

Miss  Lucretia  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  not  knowing 
what  to  say  or  do.  She  perceived  that  the  girl  had  a 
spirit  as  strong  as  her  own  :  that  her  plans  were  formed, 
her  mind  made  up,  and  that  no  arguments  could  change 
her. 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  me  ?  "  she  asked  irrelevantly. 

"  Because  I  thought  that  you  would  have  read  the 
articles,  and  I  knew  if  you  had,  you  would  have  taken 
the  trouble  to  inform  yourself  of  the  world's  opinion." 

Again  Miss  Lucretia  stared  at  her. 

"  I  will  go  to  Coniston  with  you,"  she  said,  "  at  least 
as  far  as  Brampton." 

Cynthia's  face  softened  a  little  at  the  words. 

"  I  would  rather  go  alone,  Miss  Lucretia,"  she  answered 
gently,  but  with  the  same  firmness.  "I  —  I  am  very 
grateful  to  you  for  your  kindness  to  me  in  Boston.  I 
shall  not  forget  it  —  or  you.  Good-by,  Miss  Lucretia." 

But  Miss  Lucretia,  sobbing  openly,  gathered  the  girl  in 
her  arms  and  pressed  her.  Age  was  coming  on  her  indeed, 
that  she  should  show  such  weakness.  For  a  long  time 
she  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak,  and  then  her  words 
were  broken.  Cynthia  must  come  to  her  at  the  first  sign 
of  doubt  or  trouble  :  this,  Miss  Lucretia's  house,  was  to 
be  a  refuge  in  any  storm  that  life  might  send  —  and  Miss 
Lucretia's  heart.  Cynthia  promised,  and  when  she  went 


IN  WHICH  MISS  SADLER  WRITES  A  LETTER    383 

out  at  last  through  the  little  door  her  own  tears  were 
falling,  for  she  loved  Miss  Lucretia. 

Cynthia  was  going  to  Coniston.  That  journey  was  as 
fixed,  as  inevitable,  as  things  mortal  can  be.  She  would 
go  to  Coniston  unless  she  perished  on  the  way.  No  loving 
entreaties,  no  fears  of  Mrs.  Merrill  or  her  daughters,  were 
of  any  avail.  Mrs.  Merrill,  too,  was  awed  by  the  vastness 
of  the  girl's  sorrow,  and  wondered  if  her  own  nature  were 
small  by  comparison.  She  had  wept,  to  be  sure,  at  her 
husband's  confession,  and  lain  awake  over  it  in  the  night 
watches,  and  thought  of  the  early  days  of  their  marriage. 

And  then,  Mrs.  Merrill  told  herself,  Cynthia  would 
have  to  talk  with  Mr.  Merrill.  How  was  he  to  come 
unscathed  out  of  that  ?  There  was  pain  and  bitterness  in 
that  thought,  and  almost  resentment  against  Cynthia, 
quivering  though  she  was  with  sympathy  for  the  girl.  For 
Mrs.  Merrill,  though  the  canker  remained,  had  already 
pardoned  her  husband  and  had  asked  the  forgiveness  of 
God  for  that  pardon.  On  other  occasions,  in  other  crises, 
she  had  waited  and  watched  for  him  in  the  parlor  window, 
and  to-night  she  was  at  the  door  before  his  key  was  in  the 
lock,  while  he  was  still  stamping  the  snow  from  his  boots. 
She  drew  him  into  the  room  and  told  him  what  had  hap 
pened. 

"  Oh,  Stephen,"  she  cried,  "  what  are  you  going  to  say 
to  her?" 

What,  indeed  ?  His  wife  had  sorrowed,  but  she  had 
known  the  obstacles  and  perils  by  which  he  had  been  be 
set.  But  what  was  he  to  say  to  Cynthia  ?  Her  very 
name  had  grown  upon  him,  middle-aged  man  of  affairs 
though  he  was,  until  the  thought  of  it  summoned  up  in 
his  mind  a  figure  of  purity,  and  of  the  strength  which  was 
from  purity.  He  would  not  have  believed  it  possible  that 
the  country  girl  whom  they  had  taken  into  their  house 
three  months  before  should  have  wrought  such  an  influence 
over  them  all. 

Even  in  the  first  hour  of  her  sorrow  which  she  had 
spent  that  afternoon  in  the  parlor,  Cynthia  had  thought 
of  Mr.  Merrill.  He  could  tell  her  whether  those  accusa- 


384  CONISTON 

tions  were  true  or  false,  for  he  was  a  friend  of  JethroV 
Her  natural  impulse  —  the  primeval  one  of  a  creature 
which  is  hurt  —  had  been  to  hide  herself  ;  to  fly  to  her 
own  room,  and  perhaps  by  nightfall  the  courage  would 
come  to  her  to  ask  him  the  terrible  questions.  He  was  a 
friend  of  Jethro's.  An  illuminating  flash  revealed  to  her 
the  meaning  of  that  friendship  —  if  the  accusations  were 
true.  It  was  then  she  had  thought  of  Miss  Lucretia 
Penniman,  and  somehow  she  had  found  the  courage  to 
face  the  sunlight  and  go  to  her.  She  would  spare  Mr. 
Merrill. 

But  had  she  spared  him  ?  Sadly  the  family  sat  down 
to  supper  without  her,  and  after  supper  Mr.  Merrill  sent  a 
message  to  his  club  that  he  could  not  attend  a  committee 
meeting  there  that  evening.  He  sat  with  his  wife  in  the 
little  writing  room,  he  pretending  to  read  and  she  pretend 
ing  to  sew,  until  the  silence  grew  too  oppressive,  and  they 
spoke  of  the  matter  that  was  in  their  hearts.  It  was  one 
of  the  bitterest  evenings  in  Mr.  Merrill's  life,  and  there  is 
no  need  to  linger  on  it.  They  talked  earnestly  of  Cynthia, 
and  of  her  future.  But  they  both  knew  why  she  did  not 
come  down  to  them. 

"  So  she  is  really  going  to  Coniston,"  said  Mr.  Merrill. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Merrill,  "  and  I  think  she  is 
doing  right,  Stephen." 

Mr.  Merrill  groaned.  His  wife  rose  and  put  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  Come,  Stephen,"  she  said  gently,  "  you  will  see  her  in 
the  morning." 

"  I  will  go  to  Coniston  with  her,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Merrill,  "  she  wants  to  go  alone. 
And  I  believe  it  is  best  that  she  should." 


CHAPTER   XII 

"  IN   THE   TANNERY   SHED  !  " 

GREAT  afflictions  generally  bring  in  their  train  a  host 
of  smaller  sorrows,  each  with  its  own  little  pang.  One 
of  these  sorrows  had  been  the  parting  with  the  Merrill 
family.  Under  any  circumstance  it  was  not  easy  for 
Cynthia  to  express  her  feelings,  and  now  she  had  found  it 
very  difficult  to  speak  of  the  gratitude  and  affection  which 
she  felt.  But  they  understood  —  dear,  good  people  that 
they  were  :  no  eloquence  was  needed  with  them.  The 
ordeal  of  breakfast  over,  and  the  tearful  "  God  bless  you, 
Miss  Cynthia,"  of  Ellen  the  parlor-maid,  the  whole  family 
had  gone  with  her  to  the  station.  For  Susan  and  Jane 
had  spent  their  last  day  at  Miss  Sadler's  school. 

Mr.  Merrill  had  sent  for  the  conductor  and  bidden  him 
take  care  of  Miss  Wetherell,  and  recommend  her  in  his 
name  10  a  conductor  on  the  Truro  Road.  The  man  took 
off  his  cap  to  Mr.  Merrill  and  called  him  by  name  and 
promised.  It  was  a  dark  day,  and  long  after  the  train 
had  pulled  out  Cynthia  remembered  the  tearful  faces  of 
the  family  standing  on  the  damp  platform  of  the  station. 
As  they  fled  northward  through  the  flat  river-meadows, 
the  conductor  would  have  liked  to  talk  to  her  of  Mr. 
Merrill  ;  there  were  few  employees  on  any  railroad  who 
did  not  know  the  genial  and  kindly  president  of  the 
Grand  Gulf  and  sympathize  with  his  troubles.  But 
there  was  a  look  on  the  girl's  face  that  forbade  intrusion. 
Passengers  stared  at  her  covertly,  as  though  fascinated  by 
that  look,  and  some  tried  to  fathom  it.  But  her  eyes 
were  firmly  fixed  upon  a  point  far  beyond  their  vision. 
The  car  stopped  many  times,  and  flew  on  again,  but  noth 
ing  seemed  to  break  her  absorption. 
2o  386 


386  CONISTON 

At  last  she  was  aroused  by  the  touch  of  the  conductor 
on  her  sleeve.  The  people  were  beginning  to  file  out  of  the 
car,  and  the  train  was  under  the  shadow  of  the  snow-covered 
sheds  in  the  station  of  the  state  capital.  Cynthia  rec 
ognized  the  place,  though  it  was  cold  and  bare  and  very 
different  in  appearance  from  what  it  had  been  on  the 
summer's  evening  when  she  had  come  into  it  with  her 
father.  That,  in  effect,  had  been  her  first  glimpse  of  the 
world,  and  well  she  recalled  the  thrill  it  had  given  her. 
The  joy  of  such  things  was  gone  now,  the  rapture  of  holi 
days  and  new  sights.  These  were  over,  so  she  told  her 
self.  Sorrow  had  quenched  the  thrills  forever. 

The  kind  conductor  led  her  to  the  eating  room,  and 
when  she  would  not  eat  his  concern  grew  greater  than 
ever.  He  took  a  strange  interest  in  this  young  lady  who 
had  such  a  face  and  such  eyes.  He  pointed  her  out  to 
his  friend  the  Truro  conductor,  and  gave  him  some  sand 
wiches  and  fruit  which  he  himself  had  bought,  with 
instructions  to  press  them  on  her  during  the  afternoon. 

Cynthia  could  not  eat.  She  hated  this  place,  with  its 
memories.  Hated  it,  too,  as  a  mart  where  men  were 
bought  and  sold,  for  the  wording  of  those  articles  ran  in 
her  head  as  though  some  priest  of  evil  were  chanting  them. 
in  her  ears.  She  did  not  remember  then  the  sweeter 
aspect  of  the  old  town,  its  pretty  homes  set  among  their 
shaded  gardens  —  homes  full  of  good  and  kindly  people. 
State  House  affairs  were  far  removed  from  most  of  these, 
and  the  sickness  and  corruption  of  the  body  politic.  And 
this  political  corruption,  had  she  known  it,  was  no  worse 
than  that  of  the  other  states  in  the  wide  Union  :  not  so 
bad,  indeed,  as  many,  though  this  was  small  comfort. 
No  comfort  at  all  to  Cynthia,  who  did  not  think  of  it. 

After  a  while  she  rose  and  followed  the  new  conductor 
to  the  Truro  train,  glad  to  leave  the  capital  behind  her. 
She  was  going  to  the  hills  —  to  the  mountains.  They,  in 
truth,  could  not  change,  though  the  seasons  passed  over 
them,  hot  and  cold,  wet  and  dry.  They  were  immutable 
in  their  goodness.  Presently  she  saw  them,  the  lower 
ones  :  the  waters  of  the  little  stream  beside  her  broke  the 


"IN  THE  TANNEKY  SHED!"  387 

black  bonds  of  ice  and  raced  over  the  rapids  ;  the  engine 
was  puffing  and  groaning  on  the  grade.  Then  the  sun 
crept  out,  slowly,  from  the  indefinable  margin  of  vapor 
that  hung  massed  over  the  low  country. 

Yes,  she  had  come  to  the  hills.  Up  and  up  climbed  the 
train,  through  the  little  white  villages  in  the  valley  nooks, 
banked  with  whiter  snow ;  through  the  narrow  gorges,  — 
sometimes  hanging  over  them,  —  under  steep  granite  walls 
seared  with  ice-filled  cracks,  their  brows  hung  with  icicles. 

Truro  Pass  is  not  so  high  as  the  Brenner,  but  it  has 
a  grand,  wild  look  in  winter,  remote  as  it  is  from  the 
haunts  of  men.  A  fitting  refuge,  it  might  be,  for  a 
great  spirit  heavy  with  the  sins  of  the  world  below.  Such 
a  place  might  have  been  chosen,  in  the  olden  time,  for  a 
monastery — a  gray  fastness  built  against  the  black  forest 
over  the  crag  looking  down  upon  the  green  clumps  of 
spruces  against  the  snow.  Some  vague  longing  for  such  a 
refuge  was  in  Cynthia's  heart  as  she  gazed  upon  that  silent 
place,  and  then  the  waters  had  already  begun  to  run  west 
ward  —  the  waters  of  Tumble  Down  brook,  which  flowed 
into  Coniston  Water  above  Brampton.  The  sun  still  had 
more  than  two  hours  to  go  on  its  journey  to  the  hill  crests 
when  the  train  pulled  into  Brampton  station.  There  were 
but  a  few  people  on  the  platform,  but  the  first  face  she  saw 
as  she  stepped  from  the  car  was  Lem  Hallowell's.  It  was 
a  very  red  face,  as  we  know,  and  its  owner  was  standing 
in  front  of  the  Coniston  stage,  on  runners  now.  He  stared 
at  her  for  an  instant,  and  no  wonder,  and  then  he  ran  for 
ward  with  outstretched  hands. 

"  Cynthy  —  Cynthy  Wetherell  !  "  he  cried.  "  Great 
Godfrey  !  " 

He  got  so  far,  he  seized  her  handst  and  then  he  stopped, 
not  knowing  why.  There  were  many  more  ejaculations 
and  welcomes  and  what  not  on  the  end  of  his  tongue.  It 
was  not  that  she  had  become  a  lady  —  a  lady  of  a  type  he 
had  never  before  seen.  He  meant  to  say  that,  too,  in 
his  own  way,  but  he  couldn't.  And  that  transformation 
would  have  bothered  Lem  but  little.  What  was  the 
change,  then?  Why  was  he  in  awe  of  her  —  he,  Lem 


388  CONISTON 

Hallowell,  who  had  never  been  in  awe  of  any  one  ?  He 
shook  his  head,  as  though  openly  confessing  his  inability 
to  answer  that  question.  He  wanted  to  ask  others,  but 
they  would  not  come. 

"Lena,"  she  said,  "I  am  so  glad  you  are  here." 

"  Climb  right  in,  Cynthy.  I'll  git  the  trunk."  There 
it  lay,  the  little  rawhide  one  before  him  on  the  boards,  and 
he  picked  it  up  in  his  bare  hands  as  though  it  had  been  a 
paper  parcel.  It  was  a  peculiarity  of  the  stage  driver  that 
he  never  wore  gloves,  even  in  winter,  so  remarkable  was 
the  circulation  of  his  blood.  After  the  trunk  he  deposited, 
apparently  with  equal  ease,  various  barrels  and  boxes,  and 
then  he  jumped  in  beside  Cynthia,  and  they  drove  down 
familiar  Brampton  Street,  as  wide  as  a  wide  river ;  past 
the  meeting-house  with  the  terraced  steeple ;  past  the  post- 
office, —  Cousin  Ephraim's  post-office,  —  where  Lem  gave 
her  a  questioning  look  —  but  she  shook  her  head,  and  he 
did  not  wait  for  the  distribution  of  the  last  mail  that  day; 
past  the  great  mansion  of  Isaac  D.  Worthington,  where 
the  iron  mastiffs  en  the  lawn  were  up  to  their  muzzles  in 
snow.  After  that  they  took  the  turn  to  the  right,  which 
was  the  road  to  Coniston. 

Well-remembered  road,  and  in  winter  or  summer,  Cyn 
thia  knew  every  tree  and  farmhouse  beside  it.  Now  it 
consisted  of  two  deep  grooves  in  the  deep  snow;  that  was 
all,  save  for  a  curving  turnout  here  and  there  for  team  to 
pass  team.  Well-remembered  scene  !  How  often  had 
Cynthia  looked  upon  it  in  happier  days  !  Such  a  crust 
was  on  the  snow  as  would  bear  a  heavy  man,  and  the 
pasture  hillocks  were  like  glazed  cakes  in  the  window 
of  a  baker's  shop.  Never  had  the  western  sky  looked  so 
yellow  through  the  black  columns  of  the  pine  trunks. 
A  lonely,  beautiful  road  it  was  that  evening. 

For  a  long  time  the  silence  of  the  great  hills  was  broken 
only  by  the  sweet  jingle  of  the  bells  on  the  shaft.  Many 
a  day,  winter  and  summer,  Lem  had  gone  that  road  alone, 
whistling,  and  never  before  heeding  that  silence.  Now  it 
seemed  to  symbolize  a  great  sorrow:  to  be  in  subtle  har 
mony  with  that  of  the  girl  at  his  side.  What  that  sorrow 


"  IN  THE  TANNERY  SHED !  »  389 

was  he  could  not  guess.  The  good  man  yearned  to  com 
fort  her,  and  yet  he  felt  his  comfort  too  humble  to  be 
noticed  by  such  sorrow.  He  longed  to  speak,  but  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  feared  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  Cyn 
thia  had  not  spoken  since  she  left  the  station,  had  not  looked 
at  him,  had  not  asked  for  the  friends  and  neighbors  whom 
she  had  loved  so  well  —  had  not  asked  for  Jethro !  Was 
there  any  sorrow  on  earth  to  be  felt  like  that  ?  And  was 
there  one  to  feel  it  ? 

At  length,  when  they  reached  the  great  forest,  Lem 
Hallowell  knew  that  he  must  speak  or  cry  aloud.  But 
what  would  be  the  sound  of  his  voice  —  after  such  an  age 
of  disuse  ?  Could  he  speak  at  all  ?  Broken  and  hoarse 
and  hideous  though  the  sound  might  be,  he  must  speak. 
And  hoarse  and  broken  it  was.  It  was  not  his  own,  but 
still  it  was  a  voice. 

"  Folks  —  folks'll  be  surprised  to  see  you,  Cynthy." 

No,  he  had  not  spoken  at  all.  Yes,  he  had,  for  she 
answered  him. 

"  I  suppose  they  will,  Lem." 

"  Mighty  glad  to  have  you  back,  Cynthy.  We  think  a 
sight  of  you.  We  missed  you." 

"Thank  you,  Lem." 

"  Jethro  hain't  lookin'  for  you  by  any  chance,  be  he  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said.  But  the  question  startled  her.  Sup 
pose  he  had  not  been  at  home!  She  had  never  once 
thought  of  that.  Could  she  have  borne  to  wait  for  him  ? 

After  that  Lem  gave  it  up.  He  had  satisfied  himself  as 
to  his  vocal  powers,  but  he  had  not  the  courage  even  to 
whistle.  The  journey  to  Coniston  was  faster  in  the 
winter,  and  at  the  next  turn  of  the  road  the  little  village 
came  into  view.  There  it  was,  among  the  snows.  The 
pain  in  Cynthia's  heart,  so  long  benumbed,  quickened  when 
she  saw  it.  How  write  of  the  sharpness  of  that  pain  to 
those  who  have  never  known  it  ?  The  sight  of  every 
gable  brought  its  agony,  —  the  store  with  the  checker- 
paned  windows,  the  harness  shop,  the  meeting-house,  the 
white  parsonage  on  its  little  hill.  Rias  Richardson  ran 
out  of  the  store  in  his  carpet  slippers,  bareheaded  in  the 


390  CONISTON 

cold,  and  gave  one  shout.  Lem  heeded  him  not;  did  not 
stop  there  as  usual,  but  drove  straight  to  the  tannery  house 
and  pulled  up  under  the  butternut  tree.  Milly  Skinner 
ran  out  on  the  porch,  and  gave  one  long  look,  and  cried:  — 

"Good  Lord,  it's  Cynthy!  " 

"  Where's  Jethro?  "  demanded  Lem. 

Milly  did  not  answer  at  once.  She  was  staring  at 
Cynthia. 

"He's  in  the  tannery  shed,"  she  said,  "  choppin'  wood." 
But  still  she  kept  her  eyes  on  Cynthia's  face.  "  I'll  fetch 
him." 

"No,"  said  Cynthia,  "  I'll  go  to  him  there." 

She  took  the  path,  leaving  Millicent  with  her  mouth 
open,  too  amazed  to  speak  again,  and  yet  not  knowing  why. 

In  the  tannery  shed!  Would  Jethro  remember  what 
happened  there  almost  six  and  thirty  years  before  ?  Would 
he  remember  how  that  other  Cynthia  had  come  to  him 
there,  and  what  her  appeal  had  been  ? 

Cynthia  came  to  the  doors.  One  of  these  was  open 
now  —  both  had  been  closed  that  other  evening  against 
the  storm  of  sleet  —  and  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  him 
standing  on  the  floor  of  chips  and  bark  —  tan-bark  no 
more.  Cynthia  caught  a  glimpse  of  him,  and  love  sud 
denly  welled  up  into  her  heart  as  waters  into  a  spring 
after  a  drought.  He  had  not  seen  her,  not  heard  the 
sound  of  the  sleigh-bells.  He  was  standing  with  his  foot 
upon  the  sawbuok  and  the  saw  across  his  knee,  he  was 
staring  at  the  woodpile,  and  there  was  stamped  upon  his 
face  a  look  which  no  man  or  woman  had  ever  seen  there, 
a  look  of  utter  loneliness  and  desolation,  a  look  as  of  a  soul 
condemned  to  wander  forever  through  the  infinite,  cold 
spaces  between  the  worlds  —  alone. 

Cynthia  stopped  at  sight  of  it.  What  had  been  her 
misery  and  affliction  compared  to  this  ?  Her  limbs  re 
fused  her,  though  she  knew  not  whether  she  would  have 
fled  or  rushed  into  his  arms.  How  long  she  stood  thus, 
and  he  stood,  may  not  be  said,  but  .at  length  he  put  down 
his  foot  and  took  the  saw  from  his  knee,  his  eyes  fell  upon 
her,  and  his  lips  spoke  her  name. 

"  Cynthy  '  " 


"  IN  THE  TANNERY  SHED !  "  391 

Speechless,  she  ran  to  him  and  flung  her  arms  about  his 
neck,  and  he  dropped  the  saw  and  held  her  tightly  —  even 
as  he  had  held  that  other  Cynthia  in  that  place  in  the  year 
gone  by.  And  yet  not  so.  Now  he  clung  to  her  with  a 
desperation  that  was  terrible,  as  though  to  let  go  of  her 
would  be  to  fall  into  nameless  voids  beyond  human  com 
panionship  and  love.  But  at  last  he  did  release  her,  and 
stood  looking  down  into  her  face,  as  if  seeking  to  read  a 
sentence  there. 

And  how  was  she  to  pronounce  that  sentence  !  Though 
her  faith  might  be  taken  away,  her  love  remained,  and  grew 
all  the  greater  because  he  needed  it.  Yet  she  knew  that 
no  subterfuge  or  pretence  would  avail  her  to  hide  why  she 
had  come.  She  could  not  hide  it.  It  must  be  spoken  out 
now,  though  death  was  preferable. 

And  he  was  waiting.  Did  he  guess  ?  She  could  not 
tell.  He  had  spoken  no  word  but  her  name.  He  had  ex 
pressed  no  surprise  at  her  appearance,  asked  no  reasons 
for  it.  Superlatives  of  suffering  or  joy  or  courage  are 
hard  to  convey — words  fall  so  far  short  of  the  feeling. 
And  Cynthia's  pain  was  so  far  beyond  tears. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said,  "  yesterday  something  —  some 
thing  happened.  I  could  not  stay  in  Boston  any  longer." 

He  nodded. 

"  I  had  to  come  to  you.     I  could  not  wait." 

He  nodded  again. 

"I  —  I  read  something."  To  take  a  white-hot  iron  and 
sear  herself  would  have  been  easier  than  this. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

She  felt  that  the  look  was  coming  again  —  the  look  which 
she  had  surprised  in  his  face.  His  hands  dropped  life 
lessly  from  her  shoulders,  and  he  turned  and  went  to  the 
door,  where  he  stood  with  his  back  to  her,  silhouetted 
against  the  eastern  sky  all  pink  from  the  reflection  of 
sunset.  He  would  not  help  her.  Perhaps  he  could  not. 
The  things  were  true.  There  had  been  a  grain  of  hope 
within  her,  ready  to  sprout. 

"  I  read  two  articles  from  the  Newcastle  Gruardian  — - 
about  you  —  about  your  life." 


392  CONISTON 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     But  he  did  not  turn. 

"  How  you  had  —  how  you  had  earned  your  living. 
How  you  had  gained  your  power,"  she  went  on,  her  pain 
lending  to  her  voice  an  exquisite  note  of  many  modula 
tions. 

"  Yes  —  Cynthy,"  he  said,  and  still  stared  at  the  eastern 
sky. 

She  took  two  steps  toward  him,  her  arms  outstretched, 
her  fingers  opening  and  closing.  And  then  she  stopped. 

"  I  would  believe  no  one,"  she  said,  "  I  will  beliave  no 
one  —  until  —  unless  you  tell  me.  Uncle  Jethro,"  she 
cried  in  agony,  "  Uncle  Jethro,  tell  me  that  those  things 
are  not  true !  " 

She  waited  a  space,  but  he  did  not  stir.  There  was  no 
sound,  save  the  song  of  Coniston  Water  under  the  shat 
tered  ice. 

"  Won't  you  speak  to  me  ?  "  she  whispered.  "  Won't 
you  tell  me  that  they  are  not  true  ?  " 

His  shoulders  shook  convulsively.  O  for  the  right  to 
turn  to  her  and  tell  her  that  they  were  lies  !  He  would 
have  bartered  his  soul  for  it.  What  was  all  the  power  in 
the  world  compared  to  this  priceless  treasure  he  had  lost  ? 
Once  before  he  had  cast  it  away,  though  without  meaning 
to.  Then  he  did  not  know  the  eternal  value  of  love  —  of 
such  love  as  those  two  women  had  given  him.  Now  he 
knew  that  it  was  beyond  value,  the  one  precious  gift  of 
life,  anr1  the  knowledge  had  come  too  late.  Could  he  have 
saved  his  life  if  he  had  listened  to  that  other  Cynthia  ? 

"  Won't  you  tell  me  that  they  are  not  true  ?  " 

Even  then  he  did  not  turn  to  her,  but  he  answered. 
Curious  to  relate,  though  his  heart  was  breaking,  his  voice 
was  steady  —  steady  as  it  always  had  been. 

"I  —  I've  seen  it  comin',  Cynthy,"  he  said.  "  I  never 
knowed  anything  I  was  afraid  of  before — but  I  was  afraid 
of  this.  I  knowed  what  your  notions  of  right  and  wrong 
was  —  your  —  your  mother  had  them.  They're  the  prin 
ciples  of  good  people.  I  —  I  knowed  the  day  would  come 
when  you'd  ask,  but  I  wanted  to  be  happy  as  long  as  I 
could.  I  hain't  been  happy,  Cynthy.  But  you  was  right 


«IN  THE  TANNERY  SHED!"  393 

when  you  said  I'd  tell  you  the  truth.  S-so  I  will.  I 
guess  them  things  which  you  speak  about  are  true  —  the 
way  I  got  where  I  am,  and  the  way  I  made  my  livin'. 
They  —  they  hain't  put  just  as  they'd  ought  to  be,  perhaps, 
but  that's  the  way  I  done  it  in  the  main." 

It  was  thus  that  Jethro  Bass  met  the  supreme  crisis  of 
his  life.  And  who  shall  say  he  did  not  meet  it  squarely 
and  honestly  ?  Few  men  of  finer  fibre  and  more  delicate 
morals  would  have  acquitted  themselves  as  well.  That 
was  a  Judgment  Day  for  Jethro  ;  and  though  he  knew  it 
not,  he  spoke  through  Cynthia  to  his  Maker,  confessing 
his  faults  freely  and  humbly,  and  dwelling  on  the  justness 
of  his  punishment;  putting  not  forward  any  good  he  may 
have  done,  nor  thinking  of  it,  nor  seeking  excuse  because 
of  the  light  that  was  in  him.  Had  he  been  at  death's 
door  in  the  face  of  nameless  tortures,  no  man  could  have 
dragged  such  a  confession  from  him.  But  a  great  love 
had  been  given  him,  and  to  that  love  he  must  speak  the 
truth,  even  at  the  cost  of  losing  it. 

But  he  was  not  to  lose  it.  Even  as  he  was  speaking  a 
thrill  of  admiration  ran  through  Cynthia,  piercing  her 
sorrow.  The  superb  strength  of  the  man  was  there  in 
that  simple  confession,  and  it  is  in  the  nature  of  woman  to 
admire  strength.  He  had  fought  his  fight,  and  gained,  and 
paid  the  price  without  a  murmur,  seeking  no  palliation. 
Cynthia  had  not  come  to  that  trial — so  bitter  for  her — as  a 
judge.  If  the  reader  has  seen  youth  and  innocence  sitting 
in  the  seat  of  justice,  with  age  and  experience  at  the  bar, 
he  has  mistaken  Cynthia.  She  came  to  Coniston  inexo 
rable,  it  is  true,  because  hers  was  a  nature  impelled  to  do 
right  though  it  perish.  She  did  not  presume  to  say  what 
Jethro's  lights  and  opportunities  might  have  been.  Her 
own  she  knew,  and  by  them  she  must  act  accordingly. 

When  he  had  finished  speaking,  she  stole  silently  to  his 
side  and  slipped  her  hand  in  his.  He  trembled  violently 
at  her  touch. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  love  you." 

At  the  words  he  trembled  more  violently  still. 

"  No,  no,  Cynthy,"   he  answered   thickly,  "  don't   say 


394  CONISTQN 

that  —  I  —  I  don't  -expert  it,  rCynt)hy,  I  know  you  can't  — « 
'twouldn't  be  right,  Cynthy.  I  hain't  fit  for  it." 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said,  "  I  love  you  better  than  I 
have  ever  loved  you  in  my  life." 

Oh,  how  welcome  were  the  tears  !  and  how  human  I 
He  turned,  pitifully  incredulous,  wondering  that  she 
should  seek  by  deceit  to  soften  the  blow ;  he  saw  them 
running  down  her  cheeks,  and  he  believed.  Yes,  he  be 
lieved,  though  it  seemed  a  thing  beyond  belief.  Unworthy, 
unfit  though  he  were,  she  loved  him.  And  his  own  love 
as  he  gazed  at  her,  sevenfold  increased  as  it  had  been  by 
the  knowledge  of  losing  her,  changed  in  texture  from 
homage  to  worship  —  nay,  to  adoration.  His  punishment 
would  still  be  heavy  ;  but  whence  had  come  such  a  won 
drous  gift  to  mitigate  it  ? 

"  Oh,  don't  you  believe  me  ?  "  she  cried,  "  can't  you  see 
that  it  is  true  ?  " 

And  yet  he  could  only  hold  her  there  at  arm's  length 
with  that  new  and  strange  reverence  in  his  face.  He 
was  not  worthy  to  touch  her,  but  still  she  loved  him. 

The  flush  had  faded  from  the  eastern  sky,  and  the 
faintest  border  of  yellow  light  betrayed  the  ragged  out. 
lines  of  the  mountain  as  they  walked  together  to  the 
tannery  house. 

Millicent,  in  the  kitchen,  was  making  great  preparations 
—  for  Millicent.  Miss  Skinner  was  a  person  who  had 
hitherto  laid  it  down  as  a  principle  of  life  to  pay  deference 
or  do  honor  to  no  human  made  of  mere  dust,  like  herself. 
Millicent's  exception,  if  Cynthia  had  thought  about  it,  was 
a  tribute  of  no  mean  order.  Cynthia,  alas,  did  not  think 
about  it  :  she  did  not  know  that,  in  her  absence,  the  fire 
had  not  been  lighted  in  the  evening,  Jethro  supping  on 
crackers  and  milk  and  Milly  partaking  of  the  evening 
meal  at  home.  Moreover,  Miss  Skinner  had  an  engage 
ment  with  a  young  man.  Cynthia  saw  the  fire,  and  threw 
off  her  sealskin  coat  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merrill  had  given 
her  for  Christmas,  and  took  down  the  saucepan  from  the 
familiar  nail  on  which  it  hung.  It  was  a  miraculous  fact, 
for  which  she  did  not  -attempt  to  account,  that  she  was 


«  IN  THE  TANNERY  SHED  !  "  395 

almost  happy  :  happy,  indeed,  in  comparison  to  that 
which  had  been  her  state  since  the  afternoon  before. 
Millicent  snatched  the  saucepan  angrily  from  her  hand. 

"  What  be  you  doin',  Cynthy  ?  "  she  demanded. 

Such  was  Miss  Skinner's  little  way  of  showing  deference. 
Though  deference  is  not  usually  vehement,  Miss  Skinner's 
was  very  real,  nevertheless. 

"  Why,  Milly,  what's  the  matter  ?  "  exclaimed  Cynthia, 
in  astonishment. 

"  You  hain't  a-goin'  to  do  any  cookin',  that's  all,"  said 
Milly,  very  red  in  the  face. 

"  But  I've  always  helped,"  said  Cynthia.    "  Why  not  ?  " 

Why  not  ?  A  tribute  was  one  thing,  but  to  have  to  put 
the  reasons  for  that  tribute  into  words  was  quite  another. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  cried  Milly,  "  because  you  hain't  a-goin' 
to,  that's  all." 

Strange  deference  !  But  Cynthia  turned  and  looked 
at  the  girl  with  a  little,  sad  smile  of  comprehension  and 
affection.  She  took  her  by  the  shoulders  and  kissed  her. 

Whereupon  a  most  amazing  thing  happened  —  Millicent 
burst  into  tears  —  wild,  ungovernable  tears  they  were. 

"  Because  you  hain't  a-goin'  to,"  she  repeated,  her  words 
interspersed  with  violent  sobs.  "  You  go  'way,  Cynthy," 
she  cried,  "  git  out  !  " 

"  Milly,"  said  Cynthia,  shaking  her  head,  "  you  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourself."  But  they  were  not  words  of 
reproof.  She  took  a  little  lamp  from  the  shelf,  and  went 
up  the  narrow  stairs  to  her  own  room  in  the  gable,  where 
Lemuel  had  deposited  the  rawhide  trunk. 

Though  she  had  had  nothing  all  day,  she  felt  no  hunger, 
but  for  Milly's  sake  she  tried  hard  to  eat  the  supper  when 
it  came.  Before  it  had  fairly  begun  Moses  Hatch  had 
arrived,  with  Amandy  and  Eben;  and  Rias  Richardson 
came  in,  and  other  neighbors,  to  say  a  word  of  welcome  : 
to  hear  (if  the  truth  be  not  too  disparaging  to  their 
characters)  the  reasons  for  her  sudden  appearance,  and 
such  news  of  her  Boston  experiences  as  she  might  choose 
to  give  them.  They  had  learned  from  Lein  Hallo  well 
that  Cynthia  had  returned  a  lady :  a  real  lady,  not  a  sham 


396  CONISTON 

one  who  relied  on  airs  and  graces,  such  as  had  como  to 
Coniston  the  summer  before  to  look  for  a  summer  place 
on  the  painter's  recommendation.  Lena  was  not  a  gossip, 
in  the  disagreeable  sense  of  the  term,  and  he  had  not  said 
a  word  to  his  neighbors  of  his  feelings  on  that  terrible 
drive  from  Brampton.  Knowing  that  some  blow  had  fallen 
upon  Cynthia,  he  would  have  spared  her  these  visits  if 
he  could.  But  Lem  was  wise  and  kind,  so  he  merely 
said  that  she  had  returned  a  lady. 

And  they  had  found  a  lady.  As  they  stood  or  sat 
around  the  kitchen  (Eben  and  Rias  stood),  Cynthia  talked 
to  them  —  about  Coniston:  rather,  be  it  said,  that  they 
talked  about  Coniston  in  answer  to  her  questions.  The 
sledding  had  been  good  ;  Moses  had  hauled  so  many  thou 
sand  feet  of  lumber  to  Brampton  ;  Sam  Price's  woman 
(she  of  Harwich)  had  had  a  spell  of  sciatica;  Chester 
Perkins's  bull  had  tossed  his  brother-in-law,  come  from 
lowy  on  a  visit,  and  broke  his  leg  ;  yes,  Amandy  guessed 
her  dyspepsy  was  somewhat  improved  since  she  had  tried 
Graham's  Golden  Remedy  —  it  made  her  feel  real  light- 
hearted  ;  Eben  (blushing  furiously)  was  to  have  the 
Brook  Farm  in  the  spring;  there  was  a  case  of  spotted 
fever  in  Tarleton. 

Yes,  Lem  Hallowell  had  been  right,  Cynthia  was  a  lady, 
but  not  a  mite  stuck  up.  What  was  the  difference  in  her  ? 
Not  her  clothes,  which  she  wore  as  if  she  had  been  used 
to  them  all  her  life.  Poor  Cynthia,  the  clothes  were  simple 
enough.  Not  her  manner,  which  was  as  kind  and  sweet 
as  ever.  What  was  it  that  compelled  their  talk  about 
themselves,  that  made  them  refrain  from  asking  those 
questions  about  Boston,  and  why  she  had  come  back? 
Some  such  query  was  running  in  their  minds  as  they 
talked,  while  Jethro,  having  finished  his  milk  and  crackers, 
sat  silent  at  the  end  of  the  table  with  his  eyes  upon  her. 
He  rose  when  Mr.  Satterlee  came  in. 

Mr.  Satterlee  looked  at  her,  and  then  he  went  quietly 
across  the  room  and  kissed  her.  But  then  Mr.  Satterlee 
was  the  minister.  Cynthia  thought  his  hair  a  little 
thinner  and  the  lines  in  his  face  a  little  deeper.  And 


Mrs.  Samuel  Price. 


397 


398  CONISTON 

Mr.  Satterlee  thought  —  perhaps  he  was  the  only  one  of  the 
visitors  who  guessed  why  she  had  come  back.  He  laid 
his  thin  hand  on  her  head,  as  though  in  benediction,  and 
sat  down  beside  her. 

"  And  how  is  the  learning,  C3rnthia  ?  "  he  asked. 

Now,  indeed,  they  were  going  to  hear  something  at 
last.  An  intuition  impelled  Cynthia  to  take  advantage 
of  that  opportunity. 

"  The  learning  has  become  so  great,  Mr.  Satterlee,"  she 
said,  "  that  I  have  come  back  to  try  to  make  some  use  of 
it.  It  shall  be  wasted  no  more." 

She  did  not  dare  to  look  at  Jethro,  but  she  was  aware 
that  he  had  sat  down  abruptly.  What  sacrifice  will  not  a 
good  woman  make  to  ease  the  burden  of  those  whom  she 
loves !  And  Jethro's  burden  would  be  heavy  enough. 
Such  a  woman  will  speak  almost  gayly,  though  her  heart 
be  heavy.  But  Cynthia's  was  lighter  now  than  it  had  been. 

"  I  was  always  sure  you  would  not  waste  your  learning, 
Cynthia,"  said  Mr.  Satterlee,  gravely ;  "  that  you  would 
make  the  most  of  the  advantages  God  has  given  you." 

"  I  am  going  to  try,  Mr.  Satterlee.  I  cannot  be  con 
tent  in  idleness.  I  was  wasting  time  in  Boston,  and  I  — 
I  was  not  happy  so  far  away  from  you  all  —  from  Uncle 
Jethro.  Mr.  Satterlee,  I  am  going  to  teach  school.  I 
have  always  wanted  to,  and  now  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
to  do  it." 

This  was  Jethro's  punishment.  But  had  she  not  light 
ened  it  for  him  a  little  by  choosing  this  way  of  telling 
him  that  she  could  not  eat  his  bread  or  partake  of  his 
bounty?  Though  by  reason  of  that  bounty  she  was  what 
she  was,  she  could  not  live  and  thrive  on  it  longer,  coming 
as  it  did  from  such  a  source.  Mr.  Satterlee  might  per 
haps  surmise  the  truth,  but  the  town  and  village  would 
think  her  ambition  a  very  natural  one  ;  certainly  no  better 
time  could  have  been  chosen  to  announce  it. 

"To  teach  school."  She  was  sure  now  that  Mr.  Satter 
lee  knew  and  approved,  and  perceived  something,  at  least, 
of  her  little  ruse.  He  was  a  man  whose  talents  fitted  him 
for  a  larger  flock  than  he  had  at  Coniston,  but  he  possessed 


"IN  THE  TANNERY  SHED!"  399 

neither  the  graces  demanded  of  city  ministers  nor  the 
power  of  pushing  himself.  Never  was  a  more  retiring 
man.  The  years  she  had  spent  in  his  study  had  not  gone 
for  nothing,  for  he  who  has  cherished  the  bud  can  predict 
what  the  flower  will  be,  and  Mr.  Satterlee  knew  her  spirit 
ually  better  than  any  one  else  in  Coniston.  He  had  heard  of 
her  return,  and  had  walked  over  to  the  tannery  house  full 
of  fears,  the  remembrance  of  those  expressions  of  simple 
faith  in  Jethro  coming  back  to  his  mind.  Had  the  reve 
lation  which  he  had  so  long  expected  come  at  last?  and 
how  had  she  taken  it?  would  it  embitter  her  ?  The  good 
man  believed  that  it  would  not,  and  now  he  saw  that  it 
had  not,  and  rejoiced  accordingly. 

"  To  teach  school,"  he  said.  "  I  expected  that  you  would 
wish  to,  Cynthia.  It  is  a  desire  that  most  of  us  have, 
who  like  books  and  what  is  in  them.  I  should  have 
taught  school  if  I  had  not  become  a  minister.  It  is  a 
high  calling,  and  an  absorbing  one,  to  develop  the  minds 
of  the  young."  Mr.  Satterlee  was  often  a  little  discur 
sive,  though  there  was  reason  for  it  on  this  occasion,  and 
Moses  Hatch  half  closed  his  eyes  and  bowed  his  head  a 
little  out  of  sheer  habit  at  the  sound  of  the  minister's 
voice.  But  he  raised  it  suddenly  at  the  next  words.  "  I 
was  in  Brampton  yesterday,  and  saw  Mr.  Graves,  who  is 
on  the  prudential  committee  of  that  district.  You  may 
not  have  heard  that  Miss  Goddard  has  left.  They  have 
not  yet  succeeded  in  filling  her  place,  and  I  think  it  more 
than  likely  that  you  can  get  it. " 

Cynthia  glanced  at  Jethro,  but  the  habit  of  years  was 
so  strong  in  him  that  he  gave  no  sign. 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Mr.  Satterlee  ?  "  she  said  gratefully. 
"  I  had  heard  of  the  place,  and  hoped  for  it,  because  it  is 
near  enough  for  me  to  spend  the  Saturdays  and  Sundays 
with  Uncle  Jethro.  And  I  meant  to  go  to  Brampton  to 
morrow  to  see  about  it." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  the  minister ;  "  I  have  busi 
ness  in  Brampton  to-morrow."  He  did  not  mention  that 
this  was  the  business. 

When  at  length  they  had  all  departed,  Jethro  rose  and 


400  CONISTON 

went  about  the  house  making  fast  the  doors,  as  was  his 
custom,  while  Cynthia  sat  staring  through  the  bars  at  the 
dying  embers  in  the  stove.  He  knew  now,  and  it  was  inevi 
table  that  he  should  know,  what  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  do.  It  had  been  decreed  that  she,  who  owed  him 
everything,  should  be  made  to  pass  this  most  dreadful  of 
censures  upon  his  whole  life.  Oh,  the  cruelty  of  that 
decree ! 

How,  she  mused,  would  it  affect  him?  Had  the  blow 
been  so  great  that  he  would  relinquish  those  practices 
which  had  become  a  lifelong  habit  with  him?  Would  he 
(she  caught  her  breath  at  this  thought)  —  would  he  aban 
don  that  struggle  with  Isaac  D.  Worthington  in  which  he 
was  striving  to  maintain  the  mastery  of  the  state  by  those 
very  practices  ?  Cynthia  hated  Mr.  Worthington.  The 
term  is  not  too  strong,  and  it  expresses  her  feeling.  But 
she  would  have  got  down  on  her  knees  on  the  board  floor 
of  the  kitchen  that  very  night  and  implored  Jethro  to 
desist  from  that  contest,  if  she  could.  She  remembered 
how,  in  her  innocence,  she  had  believed  that  the  people  had 
given  Jethro  his  power, — in  those  days  when  she  was  so 
proud  of  that  very  power,  —  now  she  knew  that  he  had 
wrested  it  from  them.  What  more  supreme  sacrifice 
could  he  make  than  to  relinquish  it!  Ah,  there  was  a 
still  greater  sacrifice  that  Jethro  was  to  make,  had  she 
known  it. 

He  came  and  stood  over  her  by  the  stove,  and  she 
looked  up  into  his  face  with  these  yearnings  in  her  eyes. 
Yes,  she  would  have  thrown  herself  on  her  knees,  if  she 
could.  But  she  could  not.  Perhaps  he  would  abandon 
that  struggle.  Perhaps  —  perhaps  his  heart  was  broken. 
And  could  a  man  with  a  broken  heart  still  fight  on  ?  She 
took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  against  her  face,  and  he 
felt  that  it  was  wet  with  her  tears. 

"  B-better  go  to  bed  now,  Cynthy,"  he  said ;  "  m-must 
be  worn  out  —  m-must  be  worn  out." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead.  It  was 
thus  that  Jethro  Bass  accepted  his  sentence. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

CYNTHIA  BECOMES  A  TEACHER 

AT  sunrise,  in  that  Coniston  hill-country,  it  is  the  west 
ern  hills  which  are  red,  and  a  distant  hillock  on  the 
meadow  farm  which  was  soon  to  be  Eben's  looked  like  the 
daintiest  conical  cake  with  pink  icing  as  Cynthia  surveyed 
the  familiar  view  the  next  morning.  There  was  the  moun 
tain,  the  pastures  on  the  lower  slopes  all  red,  too,  and 
higher  up  the  dark  masses  of  bristling  spruce  and  pine 
and  hemlock  mottled  with  white  where  the  snow-covered 
rocks  showed  through. 

Sunrise  in  January  is  not  very  early,  and  sunrise  at  any 
season  is  not  early  for  Coniston.  Cynthia  sat  at  her  win 
dow,  and  wondered  whether  that  beautiful  landscape  would 
any  longer  be  hers.  Her  life  had  grown  up  on  it ;  but 
now  her  life  had  changed.  Would  the  beauty  be  taken 
from  it,  too  ?  Almost  hungrily  she  gazed  at  the  scene. 
She  might  look  upon  it  again  —  many  times,  perhaps  — 
but  a  conviction  was  strong  in  her  that  its  daily  possession 
would  now  be  only  a  memory. 

Mr.  Satterlee  was  as  good  as  his  word,  for  he  was  seated 
in  the  stage  when  it  drew  up  at  the  tannery  house,  ready 
to  go  to  Brampton.  And  as  they  drove  away  Cynthia 
took  one  last  look  at  Jethro  standing  on  the  porch.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  it  had  been  given  her  to  feel  all  things, 
and  to  know  all  things  :  to  know,  especially,  this  strange 
man,  Jethro  Bass,  as  none  other  knew  him,  and  to  love 
him  as  none  other  loved  him.  The  last  severe  wrench  was 
come,  and  she  had  left  him  standing  there  alone  in  the 
cold,  divining  what  was  in  his  heart  as  though  it  were  in 
her  own.  How  worthless  was  this  mighty  power  which 

2i>  401 


402  CONISTON 

he  had  gained,  how  hateful,  when  he  could  not  bestow  the 
smallest  fragment  of  it  upon  one  whom  he  loved  ?  Some  one 
has  described  hell  as  disqualification  in  the  face  of  oppor 
tunity.  Such  was  Jethro's  torment  that  morning  as  he 
saw  her  drive  away,  the  minister  in  the  place  where  he 
should  have  been,  at  her  side,  and  he,  Jethro  Bass,  as  help 
less  as  though  he  had  indeed  been  in  the  pit  among  the 
flames.  Had  the  prudential  committee  at  Brampton 
promised  the  appointment  ten  times  over,  he  might  still 
have  obtained  it  for  her  by  a  word.  And  he  must  not 
speak  even  that  word.  Who  shall  say  that  a  large  part  of 
the  punishment  of  Jethro  Bass  did  not  come  to  him  in  the 
life  upon  this  earth  ? 

Some  such  thoughts  were  running  in  Cynthia's  head  as 
they  jingled  away  to  Brampton  that  dazzling  morning. 
Perhaps  the  stage  driver,  too,  who  knew  something  of  men 
and  things  and  who  meddled  not  at  all,  had  made  a  guess  at 
the  situation.  He  thought  that  Cynthia's  spirits  seemed 
lightened  a  little,  and  he  meant  to  lighten  them  more;  so  he 
joked  as  much  as  his  respect  for  his  passengers  would  per 
mit,  and  told  the  news  of  Brampton.  Not  the  least  of  the 
news  concerned  the  first  citizen  of  that  place.  There  was 
a  certain  railroad  in  the  West  which  had  got  itself  much 
into  Congress,  and  much  into  the  newspapers,  and  Isaac 
D.  Worthington  had  got  himself  into  that  railroad  :  was 
gone  West,  it  was  said  on  that  business,  arid  might  not  be 
back  for  many  weeks.  And  Lem  Hallowell  remembered 
when  Mr.  Worthington  was  a  slim-chested  young  man 
wandering  up  and  down  Coniston  Water  in  search  of 
health.  Good  Mr.  Satterlee,  thinking  this  a  safe  subject, 
allowed  himself  to  be  led  into  a  discussion  of  the  first 
citizen's  career,  which  indeed  had  something  fascinating 
in  it. 

Thus  they  jingled  into  Brampton  Street  and  stopped 
before  the  cottage  of  Judge  Graves  —  a  courtesy  title. 
The  judge  himself  came  to  the  door  and  bestowed  a  pro 
nounced  bow  on  the  minister,  for  Mr.  Satterlee  was  hon 
ored  in  Brampton.  Just  think  of  what  Ezra  Graves  might 
have  looked  like,  and  you  have  him.  He  greeted  Cyn- 


CYNTHIA  BECOMES  A  TEACHER  403 

thia,  too,  with  a  warm  welcome  —  for  Ezra  Graves,  —  and 
ushered  them  into  a  best  parlor  which  was  reserved  for 
ministers  and  funerals  and  great  occasions  in  general,  and 
actually  raised  the  blinds.  Then  Mr.  Satterlee,  with 
much  hemming  and  hawing,  stated  the  business  which 
had  brought  them,  while  Cynthia  looked  out  of  the 
window. 

Mr.  Graves  sat  and  twirled  his  lean  thumbs.  He  went 
so  far  as  to  say  that  he  admired  a  young  woman  who 
scorned  to  live  in  idleness,  who  wished  to  impart  the 
learning  with  which  she  had  been  endowed.  Fifteen 
applicants  were  under  consideration  for  the  position,  and 
the  prudential  committee  had  so  far  been  unable  to  declare 
that  any  of  them  were  completely  qualified.  (It  was  well 
named,  that  prudential  committee  !)  Mr.  Graves,  further 
more,  volunteered  that  he  had  expressed  a  wish  to 
Colonel  Prescott  (Oh,  Ephraim,  you  too  have  got  a  title 
with  your  new  honors  !),  to  Colonel  Prescott  and  others, 
that  Miss  Wetherell  might  take  the  place.  The  middle 
term  opened  on  the  morrow,  and  Miss  Bruce,  of  the 
Worthington  Free  Library,  had  been  induced  to  teach 
until  a  successor  could  be  appointed,  although  it  was  most 
inconvenient  for  Miss  Bruce. 

Could  Miss  Wetherell  start  in  at  once,  provided  the 
committee  agreed  ?  Cynthia  replied  that  she  would  like 
nothing  better.  There  would  be  an  examination  before 
Mr.  Errol,  the  Brampton  Superintendent  of  Schools.  In 
short,  owing  to  the  pressing  nature  of  the  occasion,  the 
judge  would  take  the  liberty  of  calling  the  committee 
together  immediately.  Would  Mr.  Satterlee  and  Miss 
Wetherell  make  themselves  at  home  in  the  parlor? 

It  very  frequently  happens  that  one  member  of  a  com' 
mittee  is  the  brain,  and  the  other  members  form  the  body 
of  it.  It  was  so  in  this  case.  Ezra  Graves  typified  all  of 
prudence  there  was  about  it,  —  which,  it  must  be  admitted, 
was  a  great  deal.  He  it  was  who  had  weighed  in  the 
balance  the  fifteen  applicants  and  found  them  wanting. 
Another  member  of  the  committee  was  that  comfortable 
Mr.  Dodd,  with  the  tuft  of  yellow  beard,  the  hardware 


404  CONISTON 

dealer  whom  we  have  seen  at  the  baseball  game.  Mr. 
Dodd  was  not  a  person  who  had  opinions  unless  they  were 
presented  to  him  from  certain  sources,  and  then  he  had 
been  known  to-cling  to  them  tenaciously.  It  is  sufficient  to 
add  that,  when  Cynthia  Wetherell's  name  was  mentioned  to 
him,  he  remembered  the  girl  to  whom  Bob  Worthington 
had  paid  such  marked  attentions  on  the  grand  stand.  He 
knew  literally  nothing  else  about  Cynthia.  Judge  Graves, 
apparently,  knew  all  about  her  ;  this  was  sufficient,  at  that 
time,  for  Mr.  Dodd  ;  he  was  sick  and  tired  of  the  whole 
affair,  and  if,  by  the  grace  of  heaven,  an  applicant  had 
been  sent  who  conformed  with  Judge  Graves's  multitude 
of  requirements,  he  was  devoutly  thankful.  The  other 
member,  Mr.  Hill,  was  a  feed  and  lumber  dealer,  and 
not  a  very  good  one,  for  he  was  always  in  difficulties  ; 
certain  scholarly  attainments  were  attributed  to  him,  and 
therefore  he  had  been  put  on  the  committee.  They  met 
in  Mr.  Dodd's  little  office  back  of  the  store,  and  in  five 
minutes  Cynthia  was  a  schoolmistress,  subject  to  examina 
tion  by  Mr.  Errol. 

Just  a  word  about  Mr.  Errol.  He  was  a  retired  lawyer, 
with  some  means,  who  took  an  interest  in  town  affairs  to 
occupy  his  time.  He  had  a  very  delicate  wife,  whom  he 
had  been  obliged  to  send  South  at  the  beginning  of  the 
winter.  There  she  had  for  a  while  improved,  but  had 
been  taken  ill  again,  and  two  days  before  Cynthia's  ap 
pointment  he  had  been  summoned  to  her  bedside  by  a 
telegram.  Cynthia  could  go  into  the  school,  and  her 
examination  would  take  place  when  Mr.  Errol  returned. 

All  this  was  explained  by  the  judge  when,  half  an  hour 
after  he  had  left  them,  he  returned  to  the  best  parlor. 
Miss  Wetherell  would,  then,  be  prepared  to  take  the 
school  the  following  morning.  Whereupon  the  judge 
shook  hands  with  her,  and  did  not  deny  that  he  had  been 
instrumental  in  the  matter. 

"And,  Mr.  Satterlee,  I  am  so  grateful  to  you,"  said 
Cynthia,  when  they  were  in  the  street  once  more. 

"My  dear  Cynthia,  I  did  nothing,"  answered  the 
minister,  quite  bewildered  by  the  quick  turn  affairs  had 


CYNTHIA  BECOMES  A  TEACHER  406 

taken ;  "  it  is  your  own  good  reputation  that  got  you  the 
place." 

Nevertheless  Mr.  Satterlee  had  done  his  share  in  the 
matter.  He  had  known  Mr.  Graves  for  a  long  time,  and 
better  than  any  other  person  in  Brampton.  Mr.  Graves 
remembered  Cynthia  Ware,  and  indeed  had  spoken  to 
Cynthia  that  day  about  her  mother.  Mr.  Graves  had  also 
read  poor  William  Wetherell's  contributions  to  the  New 
castle,  G-uardian,  and  he  had  not  read  that  paper  since  they 
had  ceased.  From  time  to  time  Mr.  Satterlee  had  men 
tioned  his  pupil  to  the  judge,  whose  mind  had  immediately 
flown  to  her  when  the  vacancy  occurred.  So  it  all  came 
about. 

"And  now,"  said  Mr.  Satterlee,  "what  will  you  do, 
Cynthia  ?  We've  got  the  good  part  of  a  day  to  arrange 
where  you  will  live,  before  the  stage  returns." 

"  I  won't  go  back  to-night,  I  think,"  said  Cynthia, 
turning  her  head  away;  "if  you  would  be  good  enough 
to  tell  Uncle  Jethro  to  send  my  trunk  and  some  other 
things." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  just  as  well,"  assented  the  minister, 
understanding  perfectly.  "  I  have  thought  that  Miss  Bruce 
might  be  glad  to  board  you,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause. 
"  Let  us  go  to  see  her."  « 

"  Mr.  Satterlee,"  said  Cynthia,  "  would  you  mind  if  we 
went  first  to  see  Cousin  Ephraim  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  we  must  see  Ephraim,"  said  Mr.  Sat 
terlee,  briskly.  So  they  walked  on  past  the  mansion  of 
the  first  citizen,  and  the  new  block  of  stores  which  the 
first  citizen  had  built,  to  the  old  brick  building  which 
held  the  Brampton  post-office,  and  right  through  the  door 
of  the  partition  into  the  sanctum  of  the  postmaster  himself, 
which  some  one  had  nicknamed  the  Brampton  Club.  On 
this  occasion  the  postmaster  was  seated  in  his  shirt  sleeves 
by  the  stove,  alone,  his  listeners  being  conspicuously  ab 
sent.  Cynthia,  who  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  him  through 
the  little  mail-window,  thought  he  looked  very  happy  and 
comfortable. 

"  Great    Tecumseh  I  "   he    cried,  —  an   exclamation  he 


406  CONISTON 

reserved  for  extraordinary  occasions,  —  "  if  it  hain't  Cyn- 
thy  !  " 

He  started  to  hobble  toward  her,  but  Cynthia  ran  to  him. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  looking  at  her  closely  after  the  greet 
ing  was  over,  "  you  be  changed,  Cynthy.  Mercy,  I  don't 
know  as  I'd  have  dared  done  that  if  I'd  seed  you  first. 
What  have  you  b'en  doin'  to  yourself  ?  You  must  have 
seed  a  whole  lot  down  there  in  Boston.  And  you're  a 
full-blown  lady,  too." 

"  Oh,  no,  I'm  not,  Cousin  Eph,"  she  answered,  trying  to 
smile. 

"  Yes,  you  be,"  he  insisted,  still  scrutinizing  her,  vainly 
trying  to  account  for  the  change.  Tact,  as  we  know,  was 
not  Ephraim's  strong  point.  Now  he  shook  his  head. 
"  You  always  was  beyond  me.  Got  a  sort  of  air  about  you, 
and  it  grows  on  you,  too.  Wouldn't  be  surprised,"  he  de 
clared,  speaking  now  to  the  minister,  "  wouldn't  be  a  mite 
surprised  to  see  her  in  the  White  House,  some  day." 

"Now,  Cousin  Eph,"  said  Cynthia,  coloring  a  little, 
"  you  mustn't  talk  nonsense.  What  have  you  done  with 
your  coat  ?  You  have  no  business  to  go  without  it  with 
your  rheumatism." 

"  It  hain't  b'en  so  bad  since  Uncle  Sam  took  me  over 
again,  Cynthy,"  he  answered,  "with  nothin'  to  do  but 
sort  letters  in  a  nice  hot  room."  The  room  was  hot,  indeed. 
"  But  where  did  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  I  grew  tired  of  being  taught,  Cousin  Eph.  I  —  I've 
always  wanted  to  teach.  Mr.  Satterlee  has  been  with  me 
to  see  Mr.  Graves,  and  they've  given  me  Miss  Goddard's 
place.  I'm  coming  to  Brampton  to  live,  to-day." 

"  Great  Tecumseh  !  "  exclaimed  Ephraim  again,  over 
powered  by  the  news.  "  I  want  to  know  I  What  does 
Jethro  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  He  —  he  is  willing,"  she  replied  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Well,"  said  Ephraim,  "  I  always  thought  you'd  come 
to  it.  It's  in  the  blood,  I  guess  —  teachin'.  Your  mother 
had  it  too.  I'm  kind  of  sorry  for  Jethro,  though,  so  I  be. 
But  I'm  glad  for  myself,  Cynthy.  So  you're  cornin'  to 
Brampton  to  live  with  me  !  " 


CYNTHIA  BECOMES  A   TEACHER  407 

"I  was  going  to  ask  Miss  Bruce  to  take  me  in,"  said 
Cynthia. 

"No  you  hain't,  anything  of  the  kind,"  said  Ephraim, 
indignantly.  "I've  got  a  little  house  up  the  street,  and  a 
room  all  ready  for  you." 

"Will  you  let  me  share  expenses,  Cousin  Eph?" 

"I'll  let  you  do  anything  you  want,"  said  lie,  "so's  you 
come.  Don't  you  think  she'd  ought  to  come  and  take 
care  of  an  old  man,  Mr.  Satterlee?" 

Mr.  Satterlee  turned.  He  had  been  contemplating, 
during  this  conversation,  a  life-size  print  of  General 
Grant  under  two  crossed  flags,  that  was  hung  conspicu 
ously  on  the  wall. 

"I  do  not  think  you  could  do  better,  Cynthia,"  he 
answered,  smiling.  The  minister  liked  Ephraim,  and  he 
liked  a  little  joke,  occasionally.  He  felt  that  one  would 
not  be  particularly  out  of  place  just  now ;  so  he  repeated, 
"I  do  not  think  you  could  do  better  than  to  accept  the 
offer  of  Colonel  Prescott." 

Ephraim  grew  very  red,  as  was  his  wont  when  twitted 
about  his  new  title.  He  took  things  literally. 

"I  hain't  a  colonel,  no  more  than  you  be,  Mr.  Satter 
lee.  But  the  boys  down  here  will  have  it  so." 

Three  days  later,  by  the  early  train  which  leaves  the 
state  capital  at  an  unheard-of  hour  in  the  morning,  a 
young  man  arrived  in  Brampton.  His  jaw  seemed  squarer 
than  ever  to  the  citizens  who  met  the  train  out  of  curiosity, 
and  to  Mr.  Dodd,  who  was  expecting  a  pump ;  and  there 
was  a  set  look  on  his  face  like  that  of  a  man  who  is  going 
into  a  race  or  a  fight.  Mr.  Dodd,  though  astonished,  has 
tened  toward  him. 

"Well,  this  is  unexpected,  Bob,"  said  he.  "How  be  you? 
Harvard  College  failed  up?" 

For  Mr.  Dodd  never  let  slip  a  chance  to  assure  a 
member  of  the  Worthington  family  of  his  continued 
friendship. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Dodd?"  answered  Bob,  nodding  at 
him  carelessly,  and  passing  on.  Mr.  Dodd  did  not  dare  to 
follow.  What  was  young  Worthington  doing  in  Bramp- 


408  CONISTON 

ton,  and  his  father  in  the  West  on  that  railroad  business  ? 
Filled  with  curiosity,  Mr.  Dodd  forgot  his  pump,  but  Bob 
was  already  striding  into  Brampton  Street,  carrying  his 
bag.  If  he  had  stopped  for  a  few  moments  with  the 
hardware  dealer,  or  chatted  with  any  of  the  dozen  people 
who  bowed  and  stared  at  him,  he  might  have  saved  him 
self  a  good  deal  of  trouble.  He  turned  in  at  the  Worth- 
ington  mansion,  and  rang  the  bell,  which  was  answered  by 
Sarah,  the  housemaid. 

"  Mr.  Bob  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Where's  Mrs.  Holden  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Holden  was  the  elderly  housekeeper.  She  had 
gone,  unfortunately,  to  visit  a  bereaved  relative  ;  unfor 
tunately  for  Bob,  because  she,  too,  might  have  told  him 
something. 

"  Get  me  some  breakfast,  Sarah.  Anything,"  he  com 
manded,  "  and  tell  Silas  to  hitch  up  the  black  trotters  to 
my  cutter." 

Sarah,  though  ia  consternation,  did  as  she  was  bid. 
The  breakfast  was  forthcoming,  and  in  half  an  hour  Silas 
had  the  black  trotters  at  the  door.  Bob  got  in  without  a 
word,  seized  the  reins,  the  cutter  flew  down  Brampton 
Street  (observed  by  many  of  the  residents  thereof)  and 
turned  into  the  Coniston  road.  Silas  said  nothing.  Silas, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  never  did  say  anything.  He  had  been 
the  Worthington  coachman  for  five  and  twenty  years,  and 
he  was  known  in  Brampton  as  Silas  the  Silent.  Young 
Mr.  Worthington  had  no  desire  to  talk  that  morning. 

The  black  trotters  covered  the  ten  miles  in  much  quicker 
time  than  Lem  Hallowell  could  do  it  in  his  stage,  but  the 
distance  seemed  endless  to  Bob.  It  was  not  much  more 
than  half  an  hour  after  he  had  left  Brampton  Street,  how 
ever,  that  he  shot  past  the  store,  and  by  the  time  Rias 
Richardson  in  his  carpet  slippers  reached  the  platform  the 
cutter  was  in  front  of  the  tannery  house,  and  the  trotters, 
with  their  sides  smoking,  were  pawing  up  the  snow  under 
the  butternut  tree. 

Bob  leaped  out,  hurried  up  the  path,  and  knocked  at 
the  door.  It  was  opened  by  Jethro  Bass  himself. 


CYNTHIA  BECOMES  A  TEACHER  409 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Bass,"  said  the  young  man, 
gravely,  and  he  held  out  his  hand.  Jethro  gave  him  such 
a  scrutinizing  look  as  he  had  given  many  a  man  whose 
business  he  cared  to  guess,  but  Bob  looked  fearlessly  into 
his  eyes.  Jethro  took  his  hand. 

"C-corne  in,"  he  said. 

Bob  went  into  that  little  room  where  Jethro  and 
Cynthia  had  spent  so  many  nights  together,  and  his  glance 
flew  straight  to  the  picture  on  the  wall,  —  the  portrait 
of  Cynthia  Wetherell  in  crimson  and  seed  pearls,  so 
strangely  set  amidst  such  surroundings.  His  glance  went 
to  the  portrait,  and  his  feet  followed,  as  to  a  lodestone. 
He  stood  in  front  of  it  for  many  minutes,  in  silence,  and 
Jethro  watched  him.  At  last  he  turned. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  he  asked. 

It  was  a  queer  question,  and  Jethro's  answer  was  quite 
as  lacking  in  convention. 

"  G-gone  to  Brampton  —  gone  to  Brampton." 

"  Gone  to  Brampton  !  Do  you  mean  to  say  —  ?  What 
is  she  doing  there  ?  "  Bob  demanded. 

"Teachin'  school,"  said  Jethro;  "g-got  Miss  Goddard's 
place." 

Bob  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  The  little  schoolhouse 
was  the  only  building  in  Brampton  he  had  glanced  at  as 
he  came  through.  Mrs.  Merrill  had  told  him  that  she 
might  take  that  place,  but  he  had  little  imagined  she  was 
already  there  on  her  platform  facing  the  rows  of  shining 
little  faces  at  the  desks.  He  had  deemed  it  more  than 
possible  that  he  might  see  Jethro  at  Coniston,  but  he  had 
not  taken  into  account  that  which  he  might  say  to  him. 
Bob  had,  indeed,  thought  of  nothing  but  Cynthia,  and  of 
the  blow  that  had  fallen  upon  her.  He  had  tried  to  realize 
the  multiple  phases  of  the  situation  which  confronted 
him.  Here  was  the  man  who,  by  the  conduct  of  his  life, 
had  caused  the  blow  ;  he,  too,  was  her  benefactor  ;  and 
again,  this  same  man  was  engaged  in  the  bitterest  of  con 
flicts  with  his  father,  Isaac  D.  Worthington,  and  it  was 
this  conflict  which  had  precipitated  that  blow.  Bob  could 
not  have  guessed,  by  looking  at  Jethro  Bass,  how  great 


410  CONISTON 

was  the  sorrow  which  had  fallen  upon  him.  But  Bob  knew 
that  Jethro  hated  his  father,  must  hate  him  now,  because  of 
Cynthia,  with  a  hatred  given  to  few  men  to  feel.  He 
thought  that  Jethro  would  crush  Mr.  Worthington  and 
ruin  him  if  he  could;  and  Bob  believed  he  could. 

What  was  he  to  say  ?  He  did  not  fear  Jethro,  for  Bob 
Worthington  had  courage  enough;  but  these  things  were 
running  in  his  mind,  and  he  felt  the  power  of  the  man 
before  him,  as  all  men  did.  Bob  went  to  the  window  and 
came  back  again.  He  knew  that  he  must  speak. 

"  Mr.  Bass,"  he  said  at  last,  "  did  Cynthia  ever  mention 
me  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Jethro. 

"  Mr.  Bass,  I  love  her.  I  have  told  her  so,  and  I  have 
asked  her  to  be  my  wife." 

There  was  no  need,  indeed,  to  have  told  Jethro  this. 
The  shock  of  that  revelation  had  come  to  him  when  he  had 
seen  the  trotters,  had  been  confirmed  when  the  young 
man  had  stood  before  the  portrait.  Jethro's  face  might 
have  twitched  when  Bob  stood  there  with  his  back  to 
him. 

Jethro  could  not  speak.  Once  more  there  had  come  to 
him  a  moment  when  he  would  not  trust  his  voice  to  ask 
a  question.  He  dreaded  the  answer,  though  none  might 
have  surmised  this.  He  knew  Cynthia.  He  knew  that, 
when  she  had  given  her  heart,  it  was  for  all  time.  He 
dreaded  the  answer,  because  it  might  mean  that  her  sorrow 
was  doubled. 

"I  believe,"  Bob  continued  painfully,  seeing  that  Jethro 
would  say  nothing,  "  I  believe  that  Cynthia  loves  me.  I 
should  not  dare  to  say  it  or  to  hope  it,  without  reason. 
She  has  not  said  so,  but — "  the  words  were  very  hard  for 
him,  yet  he  stuck  manfully  to  the  truth  ;  "  but  she  told  me 
to  write  to  my  father  and  let  him  know  what  I  had  done, 
and  not  to  come  back  to  her  until  I  had  his  answer.  This," 
he  added,  wondering  that  a  man  could  listen  to  such  a 
thing  without  a  sign,  "  this  was  before — before  she  had 
any  idea  of  coming  home." 

Yes,  Cynthia  did  love  him.     There  was  no  doubt  about  it 


CYNTHIA  BECOMES  A  TEACHER  411 

in  Jethro's  mind.  She  would  not  have  bade  Bob  write  to 
his  father  if  she  had  not  loved  him.  Still  Jethro  did  not 
speak,  but  by  some  intangible  force  compelled  Bob  to  go  on. 

"  I  shall  write  to  my  father  as  soon  as  he  comes  back 
from  the  West,  but  I  wish  to  say  to  you,  Mr.  Bass,  that 
whatever  his  answer  contains,  I  mean  to  marry  Cynthia. 
Nothing  can  shake  me  from  that  resolution.  I  tell  you 
this  because  my  father  is  fighting  you,  and  you  know  what 
he  will  say."  (Jethro  knew  Dudley  Worthington  well 
enough  to  appreciate  that  this  would  make  no  particular 
difference  in  his  opposition  to  the  marriage  except  to 
make  that  opposition  more  vehement.)  "  And  because 
you  do  not  know  me,"  continued  Bob.  "  When  I  say  a 
thing,  I  mean  it.  Even  if  my  father  cuts  me  off  and  casts 
me  out,  I  will  marry  Cynthia.  Good-by,  Mr.  Bass." 

Jethro  took  the  young  man's  hand  again.  Bob  imagined 
that  he  even  pressed  it  —  a  little  —  something  he  had  never 
done  before. 

"  Good-by,  Bob." 

Bob  got  as  far  as  the  door. 

"  Er  —  go  back  to  Harvard,  Bob?  " 

"  I  intend  to,  Mr.  Bass." 

«  Er  —  Bob  ?  " 

"Yes?" 

"  D-don't  quarrel  with  your  father  —  don't  quarrel  with 
your  father." 

"  I  shan't  be  the  one  to  quarrel,  Mr.  Bass." 

"  Bob  —  hain't  you  pretty  young  —  pretty  young  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Bob,  rather  unexpectedly,  "  I  am."  Then 
he  added,  "I  know  my  own  mind." 

"P-pretty  young.  Don't  want  to  get  married  yet 
awhile  —  do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Bob,  "  but  I  suppose  I  shan't  be  able 
to." 

"Er  —  wait  awhile,  Bob.  Go  back  to  Harvard. 
W-wouldn't  write  that  letter  if  I  was  you." 

"  But  I  will.  I'll  not  have  him  think  I'm  ashamed  of 
what  I've  done.  I'm  proud  of  it,  Mr.  Bass." 

In  the  eyes  of  Coniston,  which  had  been  waiting  for  his 


412  CONISTON 

reappearance,  Bob  Worthington  jumped  into  the  sleigh 
and  drove  off.  He  left  behind  him  Jethro  Bass,  who  sat 
in  his  chair  the  rest  of  the  morning  with  his  head  bent  in 
revery  so  deep  that  Millicent  had  to  call  him  twice  to  his 
simple  dinner.  Bob  left  behind  him,  too,  a  score  of  rumors, 
sprung  full  grown  into  life  with  his  visit.  Men  and  women 
an  incredible  distance  away  heard  them  in  an  incredible 
time  :  those  in  the  village  found  an  immediate  pretext  for 
leaving  their  legitimate  occupation  and  going  to  the  store, 
and  a  gathering  was  in  session  there  when  young  Mr. 
Worthington  drove  past  it  on  his  way  back.  Bob  thought 
little  about  the  rumors,  and  not  thinking  of  them  it  did 
not  occur  to  him  that  they  might  affect  Cynthia.  The 
only  person  then  in  Coniston  whom  he  thought  about  was 
Jethro  Bass.  Bob  decided  that  his  liking  for  Jethro  had 
not  diminished,  but  rather  increased  ;  he  admired  Jethro 
for  the  advice  he  had  given,  although  he  did  not  mean  to 
take  it.  And  for  the  first  time  he  pitied  him. 

Bob  did  not  know  that  rumor,  too,  was  spreading  in 
Brampton.  He  had  his  dinner  in  the  big  walnut  dining 
room  all  alone,  and  after  it  he  smoked  his  father's  cigars 
and  paced  up  and  down  the  big  hall,  watching  the  clock. 
For  he  could  not  go  to  her  in  the  school  hours.  At 
length  he  put  on  his  hat  and  hurried  out,  crossing  the 
parklike  enclosure  in  the  middle  of  the  street ;  bowed  at 
by  Mr.  Dodd,  who  always  seemed  to  be  on  hand,  and 
others,  and  nodding  absently  in  return.  Concealment 
was  not  in  Bob  Worthington's  nature.  He  reached  the 
post-office,  where  the  partition  door  was  open,  and  he 
walked  right  into  a  comparatively  full  meeting  of  the 
Brampton  Club.  Ephraim  sat  in  their  midst,  and  for 
once  he  was  not  telling  war  stories.  He  was  silent.  And 
the  others  fell  suddenly  silent,  too,  at  Bob's  entrance. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Prescott  ?  "  he  said,  as  Ephraim 
struggled  to  his  feet.  "  How  is  the  rheumatism  ?  " 

"  How  be  you,  Mr.  Worthington  ? "  said  Ephraim  ; 
"  this  is  a  kind  of  a  surprise,  hain't  it  ?  "  Ephraim  was  get 
ting  used  to  surprises.  "  Well,  it  is  good-natured  of  you 
to  come  in  and  shake  hands  with  an  old  soldier." 


CYNTHIA  BECOMES  A  TEACHER  413 

•'  Don't  mention  it,  Mr.  Prescott,"  answered  honest  Bob, 
a  little  abashed,  "  I  should  have  done  so  anyway,  but  the 
fact  is,  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  a  moment  in  private." 

"  Certain,"  said  Ephraim,  glancing  helplessly  around 
him,  "jest  come  out  front."  That  space,  where  the  pub 
lic  were  supposed  to  be,  was  the  only  private  place  in  the 
Brampton  post-office.  But  the  members  of  the  Brampton 
Club  could  take  a  hint,  and  with  one  consent  began  to 
make  excuses.  Bob  knew  them  all  from  boyhood  and 
spoke  to  them  all.  Some  of  them  ventured  to  ask  him  if 
Harvard  had  bust  up. 

"  Where  does  Cynthia  live  ? "  he  demanded,  coming 
straight  to  the  point. 

Ephraim  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  in  a  bewildered 
fashion,  and  then  a  light  began  to  dawn  on  him. 

"  Lives  with  me,"  he  answered.  He  was  quite  as 
ashamed,  for  Bob's  sake,  as  if  he  himself  had  asked  the 
question,  and  he  went  on  talking  to  cover  that  embarrass 
ment.  "  It's  made  some  difference,  too,  sence  she  come. 
House  looks  like  a  different  place.  Afore  she  come  I 
cooked  with  a  kit,  same  as  I  used  to  in  the  harness  shop. 
I  Famed  it  in  the  army.  Cynthy's  got  a  stove." 

It  was  not  the  way  Ephraim  would  have  gone  about 
a  love  affair,  had  he  had  one.  Sam  Price's  were  the  ap 
proved  methods  in  that  section  of  the  country,  though 
Sam  had  overdone  them  somewhat.  It  was  an  unheard-of 
thing  to  ask  a  man  right  out  like  that  where  a  girl  lived. 

"  Much  obliged,"  said  Bob,  and  was  gone.  Ephraim 
raised  his  hands  in  despair,  and  hobbled  to  the  little  win 
dow  to  get  a  last  look  at  him.  Where  were  the  proprie 
ties  in  these  days  ?  The  other  aspect  of  the  affair,  what 
Mr.  Worthington  would  think  of  it  when  he  returned,  did 
not  occur  to  the  innocent  mind  of  the  old  soldier  until 
people  began  to  talk  about  it  that  afternoon.  Then  it 
worried  him  into  another  attack  of  rheumatism. 

Half  of  Brampton  must  have  seen  Bob  Worthington 
march  up  to  the  little  yellow  house  which  Ephraim  had 
rented  from  John  Billings.  It  had  four  rooms  around  the 
big  chimney  in  the  middle,  and  that  was  all.  Simple  as 


414  CONISTON 

it  was,  an  architect  would  have  said  that  its  proportions 
were  nearly  perfect.  John  Billings  had  it  from  his  Grand 
father  Post,  who  built  it,  and  though  Brampton  would 
have  laughed  at  the  statement,  Isaac  D.  Worthington's 
mansion  was  not  to  be  compared  with  it  for  beauty.  The 
old  cherry  furniture  was  still  in  it,  and  the  old  wall  papers 
and  the  panelling  in  the  little  room  to  the  right  which 
Cynthia  had  made  into  a  sitting  room. 

Half  of  Brarapton,  too,  must  have  seen  Cynthia  open 
the  door  and  Bob  walk  into  the  entry.  Then  the  door 
was  shut.  But  it  had  been  held  open  for  an  appreciable 
time,  however,  —  while  you  could  count  twenty,  —  because 
Cynthia  had  not  the  power  to  close  it.  For  a  while  she 
could  only  look  into  his  eyes,  and  he  into  hers.  She  had 
not  seen  him  coming,  she  had  but  answered  the  knock. 
Then,  slowly,  the  color  came  into  her  cheeks,  and  she 
knew  that  she  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Cynthia,"  he  said,  "  mayn't  I  come  in  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  for  fear  her  voice  would  tremble, 
too.  And  she  could  not  send  him  away  in  the  face  of  all 
Brampton.  She  opened  the  door  a  little  wider,  a  very 
little,  and  he  went  in.  Then  she  closed  it,  and  for  a 
moment  they  stood  facing  each  other  in  the  entry,  which 
was  lighted  only  by  the  fan-light  over  the  door,  Cynthia 
with  her  back  against  the  wall.  He  spoke  her  name 
again,  his  voice  thick  with  the  passion  which  had  over 
taken  him  like  a  flood  at  the  sight  of  her — a  passion  to 
seize  her  in  his  arms,  and  cherish  and  comfort  and  protect 
her  forever  and  ever.  All  this  he  felt  and  more  as  he 
looked  into  her  face  and  saw  the  traces  of  her  great  sorrow 
there.  He  had  not  thought  that  that  face  could  be  more 
beautiful  in  its  strength  and  purity,  but  it  was  even  so. 

"Cynthia  —  my  love  !  "  he  cried,  and  raised  his  arms. 
But  a  look  as  of  a  great  fear  came  into  her  eyes,  which  for 
one  exquisite  moment  had  yielded  to  his  own  ;  and  her 
breath  came  quickly,  as  though  she  were  spent  —  as  indeed 
she  was.  So  far  spent  that  the  wall  at  her  back  was 
grateful. 

" No  !  "  she   said  ;    "no  —  you  must  not  —  you  must 


CYNTHIA  BECOMES  A  TEACHER  415 

not  —  you  must  not !  "  Again  and  again  she  repeated 
the  words,  for  she  could  summon  no  others.  They  were 
a  mandate  —  had  he  guessed  it  —  to  herself  as  to  him. 
For  the  time  her  brain  refused  its  functions,  and  she  could 
think  of  nothing  but  the  fact  that  he  was  there,  beside 
her,  ready  to  take  her  in  his  arms.  How  she  longed  to 
fly  into  them,  none  but  herself  knew  —  to  fly  into  them 
as  into  a  refuge  secure  against  the  evil  powers  of  the 
world.  It  was  not  reason  that  restrained  her  then,  but 
something  higher  in  her,  that  restrained  him  likewise. 
Without  moving  from  the  wall  she  pushed  open  the  door 
of  the  sitting  room. 

"  Go  in  there,"  she  said. 

He  went  in  as  she  bade  him  and  stood  before  the  flick 
ering  logs  in  the  wide  and  shallow  chimney-place  —  logs 
that  seemed  to  burn  on  the  very  hearth  itself,  and  yet  the 
smoke  rose  unerring  into  the  flue.  No  stove  had  ever 
desecrated  that  room.  Bob  looked  into  the  flames  and 
waited,  and  Cynthia  stood  in  the  entry  fighting  this  sec 
ond  great  battle  which  had  come  upon  her  while  her 
forces  were  still  spent  with  that  other  one.  Woman  in 
her  very  nature  is  created  to  be  sheltered  and  protected  ; 
and  the  yearning  in  her,  when  her  love  is  given,  is  intense 
as  nature  itself  to  seek  sanctuary  in  that  love.  So  it  was 
with  Cynthia  leaning  against  the  entry  wall,  her  arms  full 
length  in  front  of  her,  and  her  hands  clasped  as  she 
prayed  for  strength  to  withstand  the  temptation.  At 
last  she  grew  calmer,  though  her  breath  still  came  deeply, 
and  she  went  into  the  sitting  room. 

Perhaps  he  knew,  vaguely,  why  she  had  not  followed 
him  at  once.  He  had  grown  calmer  himself,  calmer  with 
that  desperation  which  comes  to  a  man  of  his  type  when 
his  soul  and  body  are  burning  with  desire  for  a  woman. 
He  knew  that  he  would  have  to  fight  for  her  with  her 
self.  He  knew  now  that  she  was  too  strong  in  her  position 
to  be  carried  by  storm,  and  the  interval  had  given  him 
time  to  collect  himself.  He  did  not  dare  at  first  to  look 
up  from  the  logs,  for  fear  he  should  forget  himself  and  be 
defeated  instantly. 


416  CONISTON 

"  I  have  been  to  Coniston,  Cynthia,"  he  said. 

"Yes." 

"  I  have  been  to  Coniston  this  morning,  and  I  have  seen 
Mr.  Bass,  and  I  have  told  him  that  I  love  you,  and  that  I 
will  never  give  you  up.  I  told  you  so  in  Boston,  Cynthia," 
he  said  ;  "  I  knew  that  this  —  this  trouble  would  come  to 
you.  I  would  have  given  my  life  to  have  saved  you  from 
it  —  from  the  least  part  of  it.  I  would  have  given  my 
life  to  have  been  able  to  say  'it  shall  not  touch  you.'  I 
saw  it  flowing  in  like  a  great  sea  between  you  and  me, 
and  yet  I  could  not  tell  you  of  it.  I  could  not  prepare  you 
for  it.  I  could  only  tell  you  that  I  would  never  give  you 
up,  and  I  can  only  repeat  that  now." 

"  You  must,  Bob,"  she  answered,  in  a  voice  so  low  that 
it  was  almost  a  whisper ;  "  you  must  give  me  up." 

"  I  would  not,"  he  said,  "  I  would  not  if  the  words  were 
written  on  all  the  rocks  of  Coniston  Mountain.  I  love 
you." 

"  Hush,"  she  said  gently.  "  I  have  to  say  some  things 
to  you.  They  will  be  very  hard  to  say,  but  you  must 
listen  to  them." 

"  I  will  listen,"  he  said  doggedly ;  "  but  they  will  not 
affect  my  determination." 

"  I  am  sure  you  do  not  wish  to  drive  me  away  from 
Brampton,"  she  continued,  in  the  same  low  voice,  "  when  I 
have  found  a  place  to  earn  my  living  near  —  near  Uncle 
Jethro." 

These  words  told  him  all  he  had  suspected  —  almost  as 
much  as  though  he  had  been  present  at  the  scene  in  the 
tannery  shed  in  Coniston.  She  knew  now  the  life  of 
Jethro  Bass,  but  he  was  still  "Uncle  Jethro"  to  her.  It 
was  even  as  Bob  had  supposed,  —  that  her  affection  once 
given  could  not  be  taken  away. 

"  Cynthia,"  he  said,  "  I  would  not  by  an  act  or  a 
word  annoy  or  trouble  you.  If  you  bade  me,  I  would  go 
to  the  other  side  of  the  world  to-morrow.  You  must  know 
that.  But  I  should  come  back  again.  You  must  know 
that,  too.  I  should  come  back  again  for  you." 

*'Bob,"  she  said  again,  and  her  voice   faltered  a  very 


CYNTHIA  BECOMES  A  TEACHER  417 

little  now,  "  you  must  know  that  I  can  never  be  your 
wife." 

"I  do  not  know  it,"  he  exclaimed,  interrupting  her 
vehemently,  "  I  will  not  know  it." 

"  Think,"  she  said,  "  think  !  I  must  say  what  I  have 
to  say,  however  it  hurts  me.  If  it  had  not  been  for  —  for 
your  father,  those  things  never  would  have  been  written. 
They  were  in  his  newspaper,  and  they  express  his  feelings 
toward — toward  Uncle  Jethro." 

Once  the  words  were  out,  she  marvelled  that  she  had 
found  the  courage  to  pronounce  them. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  yes,  I  know  that,  but  listen  —  " 

"  Wait,"  she  went  on,  "  wait  until  I  have  finished. 
I  am  not  speaking  of  the  pain  I  had  when  I  read  these 
things,  I — I  am  not  speaking  of  the  truth  that  may  be  in 
them  —  I  have  learned  from  them  what  I  should  have 
known  before,  and  felt,  indeed,  that  your  father  will 
never  consent  to  —  to  a  marriage  between  us." 

"  And  if  he  does  not,"  cried  Bob,  "  if  he  does  not,  do 
you  think  that  I  will  abide  by  what  he  says,  when  my 
life's  happiness  depends  upon  you,  and  my  life's  welfare? 
I  know  that  you  are  a  good  woman,  and  a  true  woman, 
that  you  will  be  the  best  wife  any  man  could  have. 
Though  he  is  my  father,  he  shall  not  deprive  me  of  my 
soul,  and  he  shall  not  take  my  life  away  from  me." 

As  Cynthia  listened  she  thought  that  never  had  words 
sounded  sweeter  than  these —  no,  and  never  would  again. 
So  she  told  herself  as  she  let  them  run  into  her  heart  to 
be  stored  among  the  treasures  there.  She  believed  in  his 
love  —  believed  in  it  now  with  all  her  might.  (Who, 
indeed,  would  not?)  She  could  not  demean  herself  now 
by  striving  to  belittle  it  or  doubt  its  continuance,  as  she 
had  in  Boston.  He  was  young,  yes;  but  he  would  never 
be  any  older  than  this,  could  never  love  again  like  this. 
So  much  was  given  her,  ought  she  not  to  be  content? 
Could  she  expect  more? 

She  understood  Isaac  Worthington,  now,  as  well  as  his 
son  understood  him.  She  knew  that,  if  she  were  to  yield 
to  Bob  Worthington,  his  father  would  disown  and  disin- 
2s 


418  CONISTOK 

herit  him.  She  looked  ahead  into  the  years  as  a  woman 
will,  and  allowed  herself  for  the  briefest  of  moments  to 
wonder  whether  any  happiness  could  thrive  in  spite  of  the 
violence  of  that  schism  —  any  happiness  for  him.  She 
would  be  depriving  him  of  his  birthright,  and  it  may  be 
that  those  who  are  born  without  birthrights  often  value 
them  the  most.  Cynthia  saw  these  things,  and  more,  for 
those  who  sit  at  the  feet  of  sorrow  soon  learn  the  world's 
ways.  She  saw  herself  pointed  out  as  the  woman  whose 
designs  had  beggared  and  ruined  him  in  his  youth,  and 
(agonizing  and  revolting  thought !)  the  name  of  one  would 
be  spoken  from  whom  she  had  learned  such  craft.  Lest 
he  see  the  scalding  tears  in  her  eyes,  she  turned  away  — 
and  conquered  them.  What  could  she  do  ?  Where  should 
she  hide  her  love  that  it  might  not  be  seen  of  men  ?  And 
how,  in  truth,  could  she  tell  him  these  things  ? 

"  Cynthia,"  he  went  on,  seeing  that  she  did  not  answer, 
and  taking  heart,  "  I  will  not  say  a  word  against  my  father. 
I  know  you  would  not  respect  me  if  I  did.  We  are  dif 
ferent,  he  and  I,  and  find  happiness  in  different  ways." 
Bob  wondered  if  his  father  had  ever  found  it.  "  If  I  had 
never  met  you  and  loved  you,  I  should  have  refused  to 
lead  the  life  my  father  wishes  me  to  lead.  It  is  not  in 
me  to  do  the  things  he  will  ask.  I  shall  have  to  carve 
out  my  own  life,  and  I  feel  that  I  am  as  well  able  to  do  it 
as  he  was.  Percy  Broke,  a  classmate  of  mine  and  my  best 
friend,  has  a  position  for  me  in  a  locomotive  works  in 
which  his  father  is  largely  interested.  We  are  going  in  to 
gether,  the  day  after  we  graduate  ;  it  is  all  arranged,  and 
his  father  has  agreed.  I  shall  work  very  hard,  and  in  a 
few  years,  Cynthia,  we  shall  be  together,  never  to  part 
again.  Oh,  Cynthia,"  he  cried,  carried  away  by  the  ec 
stasy  of  this  dream  which  he  had  summoned  up,  "  why  do 
you  resist  me  ?  I  love  you  as  no  man  has  ever  loved,"  he 
exclaimed,  with  scornful  egotism  and  contempt  of  those 
who  had  made  the  world  echo  with  that  cry  through  the 
centuries,  "  and  you  love  me  !  Ah,  do  you  think  I  do  not 
see  it  —  cannot  feel  it?  You  love  me  —  tell  me  so." 

He  was  coming  toward  her,  and  how  was  she  to  prevent 


CYNTHIA  BECOMES  A  TEACHEE  419 

his  taking  her  by  storm  ?  That  was  his  way,  and  well 
she  knew  it.  In  her  dreams  she  had  felt  herself  lifted  and 
borne  off,  breathless  in  his  arms,  to  Elysium.  Her  breath 
was  going  now,  her  strength  was  going,  and  yet  she 
made  him  pause  by  the  magic  of  a  word.  A  concession 
was  in  that  word,  but  one  could  not  struggle  so  piteously 
and  concede  nothing. 

"  Bob,"  she  said,  "  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

Love  her  !  If  there  was  a  love  that  acknowledged  no 
bounds,  that  was  confined  by  no  superlatives,  it  was  his. 
He  began  to  speak,  but  she  interrupted  him  with  a  wild 
passion  that  was  new  to  her.  As  he  sat  in  the  train  on  his 
way  back  to  Cambridge  through  the  darkening  afternoon, 
the  note  of  it  rang  in  his  ears  and  gave  him  hope  —  yes, 
and  through  many  months  afterward. 

"  If  you  love  me  I  beg,  I  implore,  I  beseech  you  in  the 
name  of  that  love  —  for  your  sake  and  my  sake,  to  leave 
me.  Oh,  can  you  not  see  why  you  must  go  ?  " 

He  stopped,  even  as  he  had  before  in  the  parlor  in 
Mount  Vernon  Street.  He  could  but  stop  in  the  face  of 
such  an  appeal  —  and  yet  the  blood  beat  in  his  head  with 
a  mad  joy. 

"  Tell  me  that  you  love  me,  —  once,"  he  cried,  —  "  once, 
Cynthia." 

"  Do  —  do  not  ask  me,"  she  faltered.     "  Go." 

Her  words  were  a  supplication,  not  a  command.  And  in 
that  they  were  a  supplication  he  had  gained  a  victory. 
Yes,  though  she  had  striven  with  all  her  might  to  deny, 
she  had  bade  him  hope.  He  left  her  without  so  much  as 
a  touch  of  the  hand,  because  she  had  wished  it.  And  yet 
she  loved  him  !  Incredible  fact !  Incredible  con  jury  which 
made  him  doubt  that  his  feet  touched  the  snow  of  Bramp- 
ton  Street,  which  blotted,  as  with  a  golden  glow,  the  faces 
and  the  houses  of  Brampton  from  his  sight.  He  saw  no 
one,  though  many  might  have  accosted  him.  That  part  of 
him  which  was  clay,  which  performed  the  menial  tasks  of 
his  being,  had  kindly  taken  upon  itself  to  fetch  his  bag 
from  the  house  to  the  station,  and  to  board  the  train. 

Ah,  but  Brampton  had  seen  him ! 


CHAPTER   XIV 

IN   WHICH  THE  LORD   OP  BRAMPTON  RETURNS 

GREAT  events,  like  young  Mr.  Worthington's  visit  to 
Brampton,  are  all  very  well  for  a  while,  but  they  do  not 
always  develop  with  sufficient  rapidity  to  satisfy  the 
audiences  of  the  drama.  Seven  days  were  an  interlude 
quite  long  enough  in  which  to  discuss  every  phase  and  bear 
ing  of  this  opening  scene,  and  after  that  the  play  in  all 
justice  ought  to  move  on.  But  there  it  halted  —  for  a 
while  —  and  the  curtain  obstinately  refused  to  come  up.' 
If  the  inhabitants  of  Brampton  had  only  known  that  the 
drama,  when  it  came,  would  be  well  worth  waiting  for, 
they  might  have  been  less  restless. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  enrich  the  pages  of  this  folio  with 
all  the  footnotes  and  remarks  of  the  sages  of  Brampton. 
These  can  be  condensed  into  a  paragraph  or  two  —  and 
we  can  ring  up  the  curtain  when  we  like  on  the  next 
scene,  for  which  Brampton  had  to  wait  considerably  over 
a  month.  There  is  to  be  no  villain  in  this  drama  with 
the  face  of  an  Abbe  Maury  like  the  seven  cardinal  sins. 
Comfortable-looking  Mr.  Dodd  of  the  prudential  com 
mittee,  with  his  chin-tuft  of  yellow  beard,  is  cast  for  the 
part  of  ths  villain,  but  will  play  it  badly ;  he  would  have 
been  better  suited  to  a  comedy  part. 

Young  Mr.  Worthington  left  Brampton  on  the  five 
o'clock  train,  and  at  six  Mr.  Dodd  met  his  fellow-member 
of  the  committee,  Judge  Graves. 

"  Called  a  meetin'  ? "  asked  Mr.  Dodd,  pulling  the 
yellow  tuft. 

"  What  for?  "  said  the  judge,  sharply. 

"  What  be  you  a-goin'  to  do  about  it?  "  said  Mr.  Dodd. 

420 


THE  LORD  OF  BRAMPTON  RETURNS    421 

"  Do  about  what?  "  demanded  the  judge,  looking  at  the 
hardware  dealer  from  under  his  eyebrows. 

Mr.  Dodd  knew  well  enough  that  this  was  not  ignorance 
on  the  part  of  Mr.  Graves,  whose  position  in  the  matter  had 
been  very  well  defined  in  the  two  sentences  he  had  spoken. 
Mr.  Dodd  perceived  that  the  judge  was  trying  to  get  him 
to  commit  himself,  and  would  then  proceed  to  annihilate 
him.  He,  Levi  Dodd,  had  no  intention  of  walking  into 
such  a  trap. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  a  final  tug  at  the  tuft,  "  if  that's 
the  way  you  feel  about  it." 

"  Feel  about  what?  "  said  the  judge,  fiercely. 

"  Callate  you  know  best,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  and  passed 
on  up  the  street.  But  he  felt  the  judge's  gimlet  eyes 
boring  holes  in  his  back.  The  judge's  position  was  very 
fine,  no  doubt  —  for  the  judge.  All  of  which  tends  to 
show  that  Levi  Dodd  had  swept  his  mind,  and  that  it  was 
ready  now  for  the  reception  of  —  an  opinion. 

Six  weeks  or  more,  as  has  been  said,  passed  before  the 
curtain  rose  again,  but  the  snarling  trumpets  of  the  or 
chestra  played  a  fitting  prelude.  Cynthia's  feelings  and 
Cynthia's  life  need  not  be  gone  into  during  this  interval : 
knowing  her  character,  they  may  well  be  imagined.  They 
were  trying  enough,  but  Brampton  had  no  means  of 
guessing  them.  During  the  weeks  she  came  and  went 
between  the  little  house  and  the  little  school,  putting  all 
the  strength  that  was  in  her  into  her  duties.  The  Pru 
dential  Committee,  which  sometimes  sat  on  the  platform, 
could  find  no  fault  with  the  performance  of  these  duties, 
or  with  the  capability  of  the  teacher,  and  it  is  not  going  too 
far  to  state  that  the  children  grew  to  love  her  better  than 
Miss  Goddard  had  been  loved.  It  may  be  declared  that 
children  are  the  fittest  citizens  of  a  republic,  because  they 
are  apt  to  make  up  their  own  minds  on  any  subject  without 
regard  to  public  opinion.  It  was  so  with  the  scholars  of 
Brampton  village  lower  school :  they  grew  to  love  the 
new  teacher,  careless  of  what  the  attitude  of  their  elders 
might  be,  and  some  of  them  could  have  been  seen  almost 
any  day  walking  home  with  her  down  the  street. 


422  CONISTON 

As  for  the  attitude  of  the  elders  —  there  was  none. 
Before  assuming  one  they  had  thought  it  best,  with  char 
acteristic  caution,  to  await  the  next  act  in  the  drama. 
There  were  ladies  in  Brampton  whose  hearts  prompted 
them,  when  they  called  on  the  new  teacher,  to  speak  a 
kindly  word  of  warning  and  advice ;  but  somehow,  when 
they  were  seated  before  her  in  the  little  sitting  room  of 
the  John  Billings  house,  their  courage  failed  them.  There 
was  something  about  this  daughter  of  the  Coniston  store 
keeper  and  ward  of  Jethro  Bass  that  made  them  pause. 
So  much  for  the  ladies  of  Brampton.  What  they  said 
among  themselves  would  fill  a  chapter,  and  more. 

There  was,  at  this  time,  a  singular  falling-off  in  the 
attendance  of  the  Brampton  Club.  Ephraim  sat  alone 
most  of  the  day  in  his  Windsor  chair  by  the  stove,  pre 
tending  to  read  newspapers.  But  he  did  not  mention  this 
fact  to  Cynthia.  He  was  more  lonesome  than  ever  on  the 
Saturdays  and  Sundays  which  she  spent  with  Jethro 
Bass. 

Jethro  Bass  !  It  is  he  who  might  be  made  the  theme 
of  the  music  of  the  snarling  trumpets.  What  was  he 
about  during  those  six  weeks  ?  That  is  what  the  state  at 
large  was  beginning  to  wonder,  and  the  state  at  large  was 
looking  on  at  a  drama,  too.  A  rumor  reached  the  capital 
and  radiated  thence  to  every  city  and  town  and  hamlet, 
and  was  followed  by  other  rumors  like  confirmations. 
Jethro  Bass,  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  life  of  activity, 
was  inactive :  inactive,  too,  at  this  most  critical  period  of 
his  career,  the  climax  of  it,  with  a  war  to  be  waged  which 
for  bitterness  and  ferocity  would  have  no  precedent; 
with  the  town  meetings  at  hand,  where  the  frontier  fight 
ing  was  to  be  done,  and  no  quarter  given.  Lieutenants 
had  gone  to  Coniston  for  further  orders  and  instructions, 
and  had  come  back  without  either.  Achilles  was  sulking 
in  the  tannery  house  —  some  said  a  broken  Achilles. 
Not  a  word  could  be  got  out  of  him,  or  the  sign  of  an 
intention.  Jake  Wheeler  moped  through  the  days  in  Rias 
Richardson's  store,  too  sore  at  heart  to  speak  to  any  man, 
and  could  have  wept  if  tears  had  been  a  relief  to  him.  No 


THE  LORD  OF  BRAMPTON  RETURNS    423 

more  blithe  errands  over  the  mountain  to  Clovelly  and 
elsewhere,  though  Jake  knew  the  issue  now  and  itched  for 
the  battle,  and  the  vassals  of  the  hill-Rajah  under  a  jubi 
lant  Bijah  Bixby  were  arming  cap-a-pie.  Lieutenant- 
General-and-Senator  Peleg  Hartington  of  Brampton,  in 
his  office  over  the  livery  stable,  shook  his  head  like  a 
mournful  stork  when  questioned  by  brother  officers  from 
afar.  Operations  were  at  a  standstill,  and  the  sinews  of 
war  relaxed.  Rural  givers  of  mortgages,  vho  had  not 
had  the  opportunity  of  selling  them  or  had  feared  to  do 
so,  began  (mirabile  dictu)  to  express  opinions.  Most 
ominous  sign  of  all  —  the  proprietor  of  the  Pelican  Hotel 
had  confessed  that  the  Throne  Room  had  not  been  engaged 
for  the  coming  session. 

Was  it  possible  that  Jethro  Bass  lay  crushed  under  the 
weight  of  the  accusations  which  had  been  printed,  and 
were  still  being  printed,  in  the  Newcastle  Gruardianf  He 
did  not  answer  them,  or  retaliate  in  other  newspapers,  but 
Jethro  Bass  had  never  made  use  of  newspapers  in  this 
way.  Still,  nothing  ever  printed  about  him  could  be  com 
pared  with  those  articles.  Had  remorse  suddenly  over 
taken  him  in  his  old  age  ?  Such  were  the  questions 
people  were  asking  all  over  the  state  —  people,  at  least, 
who  were  interested  in  politics,  or  in  those  operations 
which  went  by  the  name  of  politics  :  yes,  and  many 
private  citizens  —  who  had  participated  in  politics  only  to 
the  extent  of  voting  for  such  candidates  as  Jethro  in  his 
wisdom  had  seen  fit  to  give  them,  read  the  articles  and 
began  to  say  that  boss  domination  was  at  an  end.  A  new 
era  was  at  hand,  which  they  fondly  (and  very  properly) 
believed  was  to  be  a  golden  era.  It  was,  indeed,  to  be  a 
golden  era  —  until  things  got  working  ;  and  then  the 
gold  would  cease.  The  Newcastle  Gf-uardian,  with  uncon 
scious  irony,  proclaimed  the  golden  era  ;  and  declared 
that  its  columns,  even  in  other  days  and  under  other 
ownership,  had  upheld  the  wisdom  of  Jethro  Bass.  And 
he  was  still  a  wise  man,  said  the  Guardian,  for  he  had  had 
sense  enough  to  give  up  the  fight. 

Had  he  given  up  the  fight  ?     Cynthia  fervently  hoped 


424  CONISTON 

and  prayed  that  he  had,  but  she  hoped  and  prayed  in 
silence.  Well  she  knew,  if  the  event  in  the  tannery  shed 
had  not  made  him  abandon  his  affairs,  no  appeal  could 
do  so.  Her  happiest  days  in  this  period  were  the  Satur 
days  and  Sundays  spent  with  him  in  Coniston,  and  as  the 
weeks  went  by  she  began  to  believe  that  the  change, 
miraculous  as  it  seemed,  had  indeed  taken  place.  He  had 
given  up  his  power.  It  was  a  pleasure  that  made  the 
weeks  bearable  for  her.  What  did  it  matter  whether  he 
had  made  the  sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  his  love  for  her  ? 
He  had  made  it. 

On  these  Saturdays  and  Sundays  they  went  on  long 
drives  together  over  the  hills,  while  she  talked  to  him  of 
her  life  in  Brampton  or  the  books  she  was  reading,  and  of 
those  she  had  chosen  for  him  to  read.  Sometimes  they 
did  not  turn  homeward  until  the  delicate  tracery  of  the 
branches  on  the  snow  warned  them  of  the  rising  moon. 
Jethro  was  often  silent  for  hours  at  a  time,  but  it  seemed 
to  Cynthia  that  it  was  the  silence  of  peace  —  of  a  peace 
he  had  never  known  before.  There  came  no  newspapers 
to  the  tannery  house  now:  during  the  mid-week  he  read 
the  books  of  which  she  had  spoken  —  William  Wetherell's 
books  ;  or  sat  in  thought,  counting,  perhaps,  the  days 
until  she  should  come  again.  And  the  joy  of  those  days 
for  him  was  more  pathetic  than  much  that  is  known  to  the 
world  as  sorrow. 

And  what  did  Coniston  think  ?  Coniston,  indeed,  knew 
not  what  to  think,  when,  little  by  little,  the  great  men 
ceased  to  drive  up  to  the  door  of  the  tannery  house,  and 
presently  came  no  more.  Coniston  sank  then  from  its 
proud  position  as  the  real  capital  of  the  state  to  a  lonely 
hamlet  among  the  hills.  Coniston,  too,  was  watching  the 
drama,  and  had  had  a  better  view  of  the  stage  than  Bramp 
ton,  and  saw  some  reason  presently  for  the  change  in  Jethro 
Bass.  Not  that  Mr.  Satterlee  told,  but  such  evidence 
was  bound,  in  the  end,  to  speak  for  itself.  The  Newcastle 
Guardian  had  been  read  and  debated  at  the  store  —  de 
bated  with  some  heat  by  Chester  Perkins  and  other  mort 
gagors  ;  discussed,  nevertheless,  in  a  political  rather  than 


THE  LOKD  OF  BKAMPTON  EETURNS    425 

a  moral  light.  Then  Cynthia  had  returned  home,  her  face 
had  awed  them  by  its  sorrow,  and  she  had  begun  to  earn 
her  own  living.  Then  the  politicians  had  ceased  to  come. 
The  credit  belongs  to  Rias  Richardson  for  having  been  the 
first  to  piece  these  three  facts  together,  causing  him  to 
burn  his  hand  so  severely  on  the  stove  that  he  had  to 
carry  it  bandaged  in  soda  for  a  week.  Cynthia  Wetherell 
had  reformed  Jethro. 

Though  the  village  loved  and  revered  Cynthia,  Conis- 
ton  as  a  whole  did  not  rejoice  in  that  reform.  The  town 
had  fallen  from  its  mighty  estate,  and  there  were  certain 
envious  ones  who  whispered  that  it  had  remained  for  a 
young  girl  who  had  learned  city  ways  to  twist  Jethro 
around  her  finger  ;  that  she  had  made  him  abandon  his 
fight  with  Isaac  D.  Worthington  because  Mr.  Worthing- 
ton  had  a  son  —  but  there  is  no  use  writing  such  scandal. 
Stripped  of  his  power  —  even  though  he  stripped  himself 
—  Jethro  began  to  lose  their  respect,  a  trait  tending  to 
prove  that  the  human  race  may  have  had  wolves  for  ances 
tors  as  well  as  apes.  People  had  small  opportunity,  how 
ever,  of  showing  a  lack  of  respect  to  his  person,  for  in 
these  days  he  noticed  no  one  and  spoke  to  none. 

When  the  lion  is  crippled,  the  jackals  begin  to  range. 
A  jackal  reconnoitred  the  lair  to  see  how  badly  the  lion 
was  crippled,  and  conceived  with  astounding  insolence  the 
plan  of  capturing  the  lion's  quarry.  This  jackal,  who  was 
an  old  one,  well  knew  how  to  round  up  a  quarry,  and  fled 
back  over  the  hills  to  consult  with  a  bigger  jackal,  his 
master.  As  a  result,  two  days  before  March  town-meeting 
day,  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby  paid  a  visit  to  the  Harwich  bank 
and  went  among  certain  Coniston  farmers  looking  over 
the  sheep,  his  clothes  bulging  out  in  places  when  he  began, 
and  seemingly  normal  enough  when  he  had  finished.  His 
tory  repeats  itself,  even  among  lions  and  jackals.  Thirty- 
six  years  before  there  had  been  a  town-meeting  in  Coniston 
and  a  surprise.  Established  Church,  decent  and  orderly 
selectmen  and  proceedings  had  been  toppled  over  that 
day,  every  outlying  farm  sending  its  representative 
through  the  sleet  to  do  it.  And  now  retribution  was 


426  CONISTON 

at  hand.  This  March-meeting  day  was  mild,  the  grass 
showing  a  green  color  on  the  south  slopes  where  the  snow 
had  melted,  and  the  outlying  farmers  drove  through  mud- 
holes  up  to  the  axles.  Drove,  albeit,  in  procession  along 
the  roads,  grimly  enough,  and  the  sheds  Jock  Hallowell 
had  built  around  the  meeting-house  could  not  hold  the 
horses  ;  they  lined  the  fences  and  usurped  the  hitching 
posts  of  the  village  street,  and  still  they  came.  Their 
owners  trooped  with  muddy  boots  into  the  meeting-house, 
and  when  the  moderator  rapped  for  order  the  Chairman 
of  the  Board  of  Selectmen,  Jethro  Bass,  was  not  in  his 
place  ;  never,  indeed,  would  be  there  again.  Six  and 
thirty  years  he  had  been  supreme  in  that  town  —  long 
enough  for  any  man.  The  beams  and  king  posts  would 
know  him  no  more.  Mr.  Amos  Cuthbert  was  elected 
Chairman,  not  without  a  gallant  and  desperate  but  un 
supported  fight  of  a  minority  led  by  Mr.  Jake  Wheeler, 
whose  loyalty  must  be  taken  as  a  tribute  to  his  species. 
Farmer  Cuthbert  was  elected,  and  his  mortgage  was  not 
foreclosed  !  Had  it  been,  there  was  more  money  in  the 
Harwich  bank. 

There  was  no  telegraph  to  Coniston  in  these  days,  and 
so  Mr.  Sam  Price,  with  his  horse  in  a  lather,  might  have 
been  seen  driving  with  unseemly  haste  toward  Brampton, 
where  in  due  time  he  arrived.  Half  an  hour  later  there 
was  excitement  at  Newcastle,  sixty-five  miles  away,  in  the 
office  of  the  Guardian,  and  the  next  morning  the  excite 
ment  had  spread  over  the  whole  state. 

Jethro  Bass  was  dethroned  in  Coniston  —  discredited 
in  his  own  town  ! 

And  where  was  Jethro  ?  Did  his  heart  ache,  did  he 
bow  his  head  as  he  thought  of  that  supremacy,  so  hardly 
won,  so  superbly  held,  gone  forever?  Many  were  the 
curious  eyes  on  the  tannery  house  that  day,  and  for  days 
after,  but  its  owner  gave  no  signs  of  concern.  He  read 
and  thought  and  chopped  wood  in  the  tannery  shed  as 
usual.  Never,  I  believe,  did  man,  shorn  of  power,  accept 
his  lot  more  quietly.  His  struggle  was  over,  his  battle 
was  fought,  a  greater  peace  than  he  had  ever  thought  to 


"  Trooped  with  muddy  boots  into  the  meeting-house." 


427 


428  CONISTON 

hope  for  was  won.  For  the  opinion  and  regard  of  the 
world  he  had  never  cared.  A  greater  reward  awaited 
him,  greater  than  any  knew  —  the  opinion  and  regard 
and  the  praise  of  one  whom  he  loved  beyond  all  the  world. 
On  Friday  she  came  to  him,  on  Friday  at  sunset,  for  the 
days  were  growing  longer,  and  that  was  the  happiest  sun 
set  of  his  life.  She  said  nothing  as  she  raised  her  face  to 
his  and  kissed  him  and  clung  to  him  in  the  little  parlor, 
but  he  knew,  and  he  had  his  reward.  So  much  for  earthly 
power  ! 

Cynthia  brought  the  little  rawhide  trunk  this  time,  and 
came  to  Coniston  for  the  March  vacation  —  a  happy  fort 
night  that  was  soon  gone.  Happy  by  comparison,  that  is, 
with  what  they  both  had  suffered,  and  a  haven  of  rest  after 
the  struggle  and  despair  of  the  wilderness.  The  bond 
between  them  had,  in  truth,  never  been  stronger,  for  both 
the  young  girl  and  the  old  man  had  denied  themselves 
the  thing  they  held  most  dear.  Jethro  had  taken  refuge 
and  found  comfort  in  his  love.  But  Cynthia !  Her  great 
est  love  had  now  been  bestowed  elsewhere. 

If  there  were  letters  for  the  tannery  house,  Milly 
Skinner,  who  made  it  a  point  to  meet  the  stage,  brought 
them.  And  there  were  letters  during  Cynthia's  sojourn, 
—  many  of  them,  bearing  the  Cambridge  postmark.  One 
evening  it  was  Jethro  who  laid  the  letter  on  the  table 
beside  her  as  she  sat  under  the  lamp.  He  did  not  look  at 
her  or  speak,  but  she  felt  that  he  knew  her  secret  —  felt 
that  he  deserved  to  have  from  her  own  lips  what  he  had 
been  too  proud  —  yes  —  and  too  humble  to  ask.  Whose 
sympathy  could  she  be  sure  of,  if  not  of  his  ?  Still  she 
had  longed  to  keep  this  treasure  to  herself.  She  took  the 
letter  in  her  hand. 

"  I  do  not  answer  them,  Uncle  Jethro,  but  —  I  cannot 
prevent  his  writing  them,"  she  faltered.  She  did  not  con 
fess  that  she  kept  them,  every  one,  and  read  them  over 
and  over  again ;  that  she  had  grown,  indeed,  to  look  for 
ward  to  them  as  to  a  sustenance.  "I  —  I  do  love  him,  but 
I  will  not  marry  him." 

Yes,  she  could  be  sure  of  Jethro's  sympathy,  though  he 


THE  LORD  OF  BRAMPTON  RETURNS    429 

could  not  express  it  in  words.  Yet  she  had  not  told  him 
for  this.  She  had  told  him,  much  as  the  telling  had  hurt 
her,  because  she  feared  to  cut  him  more  deeply  by  her 
silence. 

It  was  a  terrible  moment  for  Jethro,  and  never  had  he 
desired  the  gift  of  speech  as  now.  Had  it  not  been  for 
him,  Cynthia  might  have  been  Robert  Worthington's  wife. 
He  sat  down  beside  her  and  put  his  hand  over  hers  that 
lay  on  the  letter  in  her  lap.  It  was  the  only  answer  he 
could  make,  but  perhaps  it  was  the  best,  after  all.  Of 
what  use  were  words  at  such  a  time  ! 

Four  days  afterward,  on  a  Monday  morning,  she  went 
back  to  Brampton  to  begin  the  new  term. 

That  same  Monday  a  circumstance  of  no  small  impor 
tance  took  place  in  Brampton  —  nothing  less  than  the 
return,  after  a  prolonged  absence  in  the  West  and  else 
where,  of  its  first  citizen.  Isaac  D.  Worthington  was 
again  in  residence.  No  bells  were  rung,  indeed,  and  no 
delegation  of  citizens  as  such,  headed  by  the  selectmen, 
met  him  at  the  station  ;  and  other  feudal  expressions  of 
fealty  were  lacking.  No  staff  flew  Mr.  Worthington's 
arms  ;  nevertheless  the  lord  of  Brampton  was  in  his  castle 
again,  and  Brampton  felt  that  he  was  there.  He  arrived 
alone,  wearing  the  silk  hat  which  had  become  habitual 
with  him  now,  and  stepping  into  his  barouche  at  the 
station  had  been  driven  up  Brampton  Street  behind  his 
grays,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  left.  His  reddish 
chop  whiskers  seemed  to  cling  a  little  more  closely  to  his 
face  than  formerly,  and  long  years  of  compression  made 
his  mouth  look  sterner  than  ever.  A  hawk-like  man,  Isaac 
Worthington,  to  be  reckoned  with  and  feared,  whether  in 
a  frock  coat  or  in  breastplate  and  mail. 

His  seneschal,  Mr.  Flint,  was  awaiting  him  in  the 
library.  Mr.  Flint  was  large  and  very  ugly,  big-boned, 
smooth-shaven,  with  coarse  features  all  askew,  and  a 
large  nose  with  many  excrescences,  and  thick  lips.  He 
was  forty-two.  From  a  foreman  of  the  mills  he  had  risen, 
step  by  step,  to  his  present  position,  which  no  one  seemed 
able  to  define.  He  was,  indeed,  a  seneschal.  He  managed 


430  CONISTON 

the  mills  in  his  lord's  absence,  and  —  if  the  truth  be  told 
—  in  his  presence  ;  knotty  questions  of  the  Truro  Railroad 
were  brought  to  Mr.  Flint  and  submitted  to  Mr.  Worth- 
ington,  who  decided  them,  —  with  Mr.  Flint's  advice  ; 
and,  within  the  last  three  months,  Mr.  Flint  had  invaded 
the  realm  of  politics,  quietly,  as  such  a  man  would,  under 
the  cover  of  his  patron's  name  and  glory.  Mr.  Flint  it 
was  who  had  bought  the  Newcastle  Guardian,  who  went 
occasionally  to  Newcastle  and  spoke  a  few  effective  words 
now  and  then  to  the  editor ;  and,  if  the  truth  will  out, 
Mr.  Flint  had  largely  conceived  that  scheme  about  the 
railroads  which  was  to  set  Mr.  Worthington  on  the  throne 
of  the  state,  although  the  scheme  was  not  now  being 
carried  out  according  to  Mr.  Flint's  wishes.  Mr.  Flint 
was,  in  a  sense,  a  Bismarck,  but  he  was  not  as  yet  all- 
powerful.  Sometimes  his  august  master  or  one  of  his 
fellow  petty  sovereigns  would  sweep  Mr.  Flint's  plans 
into  the  waste  basket,  and  then  Mr.  Flint  would  be  con 
tent  to  wait.  To  complete  the  character  sketch,  Mr. 
Flint  was  not  above  hanging  up  his  master's  hat  and  coat, 
which  he  did  upon  the  present  occasion,  and  went  up  to 
Mr.  Worthington's  bedroom  to  fetch  a  pocket  handker 
chief  out  of  the  second  drawer.  He  even  knew  where  the 
handkerchiefs  were  kept.  Lucky  petty  sovereigns  some 
times  possess  Mr.  Flints  to  make  them  emperors. 

The  august  personage  seated  himself  briskly  at  his  desk. 

"  So  that  scoundrel  Bass  is  actually  discredited  at  last," 
he  said,  blowing  his  nose  in  the  pocket  handkerchief  Mr. 
Flint  had  brought  him.  "  I  lose  patience  when  I  think 
how  long  we've  stood  the  rascal  in  this  state.  I  knew  the 
people  would  rise  in  their  indignation  when  they  learned 
the  truth  about  him." 

Mr.  Flint  did  not  answer  this.  He  might  have  had 
other  views. 

"  I  wonder  we  did  not  think  of  it  before,"  Mr.  Worth 
ington  continued.  "  A  very  simple  remedy,  and  only  re 
quiring  a  little  courage  and — and  —  "  (Mr.  Worthington 
was  going  to  say  money,  but  thought  better  of  it)  "and  the 
chimera  disappears.  I  congratulate  you,  Flint." 


THE  LORD  OF  BRAMPTON  RETURNS    431 

"  Congratulate  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Flint ;  "  that  would 
not  have  been  my  way." 

"  Very  well,  I  congratulate  myself,"  said  the  august 
personage,  who  was  in  too  good  a  humor  to  be  put  out  by 
the  rejection  of  a  compliment.  "  You  remember  what  I 
said  :  the  time  was  ripe,  just  publish  a  few  biographical 
articles  telling  people  what  he  was,  and  Jethro  Bass 
would  snuff  out  like  a  candle.  Mr.  Duncan  tells  me  the 
town-meeting  results  are  very  good  all  over  the  state. 
Even  if  we  hadn't  knocked  out  Jethro  Bass,  we'd  have  a 
fair  majority  for  our  bill  in  the  next  legislature." 

"  You  know  Bass's  saying,"  answered  Mr.  Flint,  "  You 
can  hitch  that  kind  of  a  hoss,  but  they  won't  always  '  stay 
hitched."1 

" I  know,  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Worthington;  "don't  croak, 
Flint.  We  can  buy  more  hitch  ropes,  if  necessary. 
Well,  what's  the  outlay  up  to  the  present  ?  Large,  I  sup 
pose.  Well,  whatever  it  is,  it's  small  compared  to  what 
we'll  get  for  it."  He  laughed  a  little  and  rubbed  his 
hands,  and  then  he  remembered  that  capacity  in  which  he 
stood  before  the  world.  Yes,  and  he  stood  before  him 
self  in  the  same  capacity.  Isaac  Worthington  may  have 
deceived  himself,  but  he  may  or  may  not  have  been  a  hero 
to  his  seneschal.  "  We  have  to  fight  fire  with  fire,"  he 
added,  in  a  pained  voice.  "  Let  me  see  the  account." 

"  I  have  tabulated  the  expense  in  the  different  cities  and 
towns,"  answered  Mr.  Flint ;  "  I  will  show  you  the  account 
in  a  little  while.  The  expenses  in  Coniston  were  some 
what  greater  than  the  size  of  the  town  justified,  perhaps. 
But  Sutton  thought  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  Mr.  Worthington,  "  if  it  had 
cost  as  much  to  carry  Coniston  as  Newcastle,  it  would 
have  been  worth  it  —  for  the  moral  effect  alone." 

Moral  effect  !  Mr.  Flint  thought  of  Mr.  Bixby  with 
his  bulging  pockets  going  about  the  hills,  and  smiled  at 
the  manner  in  which  moral  effects  are  sometimes  obtained. 

"  Any  news,  Flint  ?  " 

No  news  yet,  Mr.  Flint  might  have  answered.  In  a 
few  minutes  there  might  be  news,  and  plenty  of  it,  for  it 


432  CONISTON 

lay  ready  to  be  hatched  under  Mr.  Worthington's  eye. 
A  letter  in  the  bold  and  upright  hand  of  his  son  was  on 
the  top  of  the  pile,  placed  there  by  Mr.  Flint  himself,  who 
had  examined  Mr.  Worthington's  face  closely  when  he 
came  in  to  see  how  much  he  might  know  of  its  contents. 
He  had  decided  that  Mr.  Worthington  was  in  too  good 
a  humor  to  know  anything  of  them.  Mr.  Flint  had  not 
steamed  the  letter  open,  and  read  the  news  ;  but  he 
could  guess  at  them  pretty  shrewdly,  and  so  could  have 
the  biggest  fool  in  Brampton.  That  letter  contained  the 
opening  scene  of  the  next  act  in  the  drama. 

Mr.  Worthington  cut  the  envelope  and  began  to  read, 
and  while  he  did  so  Mr.  Flint,  who  was  not  afraid  of  man 
or  beast,  looked  at  him.  It  was  a  manly  and  straight 
forward  letter,  and  Mr.  Worthington,  no  matter  what 
his  opinions  on  the  subject  were,  should  have  been  proud 
of  it.  Bob  announced,  first  of  all,  that  he  was  going  to 
marry  Cynthia  Wetherell  ;  then  he  proceeded  with  praise 
worthy  self-control  (for  a  lover)  to  describe  Cynthia's 
character  and  attainments :  after  which  he  stated  that 
Cynthia  had  refused  him  —  twice,  because  she  believed 
that  Mr.  Worthington  would  oppose  the  marriage,  and 
had  declared  that  she  would  never  be  the  cause  of  a 
breach  between  father  and  son.  Bob  asked  for  his  father's 
consent,  and  hoped  to  have  it,  but  he  thought  it  only 
right  to  add  that  he  had  given  his  word  and  his  love, 
and  did  not  mean  to  retract  either.  He  spoke  of  his 
visit  to  Brampton,  and  explained  that  Cynthia  was  teach 
ing  school  there,  and  urged  his  father  to  see  her  before  he 
made  a  decision.  Mr.  Worthington  read  it  through  to 
the  end,  his  lips  closing  tighter  and  tighter  until  his 
mouth  was  but  a  line  across  his  face.  There  was  pain 
in  the  face,  too,  the  kind  of  pain  which  anger  sends,  and 
which  comes  with  the  tottering  of  a  pride  that  is  false. 
Of  what  gratification  now  was  the  overthrow  of  Jethro 
Bass? 

He  stared  at  the  letter  for  a  moment  after  he  had  fin 
ished  it,  and  his  face  grew  a  dark  red.  Then  he  seized 
the  paper  and  tore  it  slowly,  deliberately,  into  bits. 


THE  LORD  OF  BRAMPTON  RETURNS    433 

Dudley  Worthington  was  not  thinking  then  —  not  he!  — of 
the  young  man  in  the  white  beaver  who  had  called  at  the 
Social  Library  many  years  before  to  see  a  young  woman 
whose  name,  too,  had  been  Cynthia.  He  was  thinking,  in 
fact,  for  he  was  a  man  to  think  in  anger,  whether  it  were 
not  possible  to  remove  this  Cynthia  from  the  face  of  the 
earth  —  at  least  to  a  place  beyond  his  horizon  and  that  of 
his  son.  Had  he  worn  the  chain  mail  instead  of  the 
frock  coat  he  would  have  had  her  hung  outside  the  town 
walls. 

"  Good  God !  "  he  exclaimed.  And  the  words  sounded 
profane  indeed  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  Mr.  Flint.  "  You 
knew  that  Robert  had  been  to  Brampton?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Flint,  "  the  whole  village  knew  it." 

"  Good  God  !  "  cried  Mr.  Worthington  again,  "  why 
was  I  not  informed  of  this  ?  Why  was  I  not  warned  of 
this  ?  Have  I  no  friends  ?  Do  you  pretend  to  look  after 
my  interests  and  not  take  the  trouble  to  write  me  on  such 
a  subject  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  have  prevented  it  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Flint,  very  calmly. 

"You  allow  this  —  this  woman  to  come  here  to  Bramp 
ton  and  teach  school  in  a  place  where  she  can  further  her 
designs  ?  What  were  you  about  ?  " 

"  When  the  prudential  committee  appointed  her,  noth 
ing  of  this  was  known,  Mr.  Worthington." 

"  Yes,  but  now  —  now !  What  are  you  doing,  what 
are  they  doing  to  allow  her  to  remain  ?  Who  are  on  that 
committee  ?  " 

Mr.  Flint  named  the  men.  They  had  been  reelected,  as 
usual,  at  the  recent  town-meeting.  Mr.  Errol,  who  had 
also  been  reelected,  had  returned  but  had  not  yet  issued 
the  certificate  or  conducted  the  examination. 

"  Send  for  them,  have  them  here  at  once,"  commanded 
Mr.  Worthington,  without  listening  to  this. 

"  If  you  take  my  advice,  you  will  do  nothing  of  the 
kind,"  said  Mr.  Flint,  who,  as  usual,  had  the  whole  situa 
tion  at  his  fingers'  ends.  He  had  taken  the  trouble  to 
inform  himself  about  the  girl,  and  he  had  discovered, 

2F 


434  CONISTON 

shrewdly  enough,  that  she  was  the  kind  which  might  be 
led,  but  not  driven.  If  Mr.  Flint's  advice  had  been  lis 
tened  to,  this  story  might  have  had  quite  a  different  end 
ing.  But  Mr.  Flint  had  not  reached  the  stage  where  his 
advice  was  always  listened  to,  and  he  had  a  maddened  man 
to  deal  with  now.  At  that  moment,  as  if  fate  had  deter 
mined  to  intervene,  the  housemaid  came  into  the  room. 

"  Mr.  Dodd  to  see  you,  sir,"  she  said. 

"Show  him  in,"  shouted  Mr.  Worthington;  "show  him 
in! 

Mr.  Dodd  was  not  a  man  who  could  wait  for  a  summons 
which  he  had  felt  in  his  bones  was  coming.  He  was 
ordinarily,  as  we  have  seen,  officious.  But  now  he  was 
thoroughly  frightened.  He  had  seen  the  great  man  in 
the  barouche  as  he  drove  past  the  hardware  store,  and  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  up  at  once,  and  have  it  over 
with.  His  opinions  were  formed  now.  He  put  a  smile 
on  his  face  when  he  was  a  foot  outside  of  the  library  door. 

"This  is  a  great  pleasure,  Mr.  Worthington,  a  great 
pleasure,  to  see  you  back,"  he  said,  coming  forward.  "  I 
collated—" 

But  the  great  man  sat  in  his  chair,  and  made  no 
attempt  to  return  the  greeting. 

"  Mr.  Dodd,  I  thought  you  were  my  friend,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Dodd  went  all  to  pieces  at  this  reception. 

"  So  I  be,  Mr.  Worthington  —  so  I  be,"  he  cried. 
"  That's  why  I'm  here  now.  I've  b'en  a  friend  of  yours 
ever  since  I  can  remember  —  never  fluctuated.  I'd  rather 
have  chopped  my  hand  off  than  had  this  happen  —  so  I 
would.  If  I  could  have  foreseen  what  she  was,  she'd 
never  have  had  the  place,  as  sure  as  my  name's  Levi 
Dodd." 

If  Mr.  Dodd  had  taken  the  trouble  to  look  at  the  sen 
eschal's  face,  he  would  have  seen  a  well-defined  sneer 
there. 

"  And  now  that  you  know  what  she  is,"  cried  Mr. 
Worthington,  rising  and  smiting  the  pile  of  letters  on  his 
desk,  "  why  do  you  keep  her  there  an  instant  ?  " 

Mr.  Dodd  stopped  to  pick  up  the  letters,  which  had 


THE  LOED  OF  BEAMPTON  EETUENS    435 

flown  over  the  floor.  But  the  great  man  was  now  in  the 
full  tide  of  his  anger. 

"  Never  mind  the  letters,"  he  shouted  ;  "  tell  me  why 
you  keep  her  there." 

"  We  callated  we'd  wait  and  see  what  steps  you'd  like 
taken,"  said  the  trembling  townsman. 

"  Steps  !  Steps  !  Good  God  !  What  kind  of  man  are 
you  to  serve  in  such  a  place  when  you  allow  the  professed 
ward  of  Jethro  Bass  —  of  Jethro  Bass,  the  most  notori 
ously  depraved  man  in  this  state,  to  teach  the  children  of 
this  town.  Steps  !  How  soon  can  you  call  your  com 
mittee  together  ?  " 

"Right  away,"  answered  Mr.  Dodd,  breathlessly.  He 
would  have  gone  on  to  exculpate  himself,  but  Mr.  Worth- 
ington's  inexorable  finger  was  pointing  at  the  door. 

"  If  you  are  a  friend  of  mine,"  said  that  gentleman, 
"  and  if  you  have  any  regard  for  the  fair  name  of  this  town, 
you  will  do  so  at  once." 

Mr.  Dodd  departed  precipitately,  and  Mr.  Worthington 
began  to  pace  the  room,  clasping  his  hands  now  in  front  of 
him,  now  behind  him,  in  his  agony :  repeating  now  and 
again  various  appellations  which  need  not  be  printed  here, 
which  he  applied  in  turn  to  the  prudential  committee,  to 
his  son,  and  to  Cynthia  Wetherell. 

"  I'll  run  her  out  of  Brampton,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  If  you  do,"  said  Mr.  Flint,  who  had  been  watching 
him  apparently  unmoved,  "  you  may  have  Jethro  Bass  on 
your  back." 

"  Jethro  Bass  ? "  shouted  Mr.  Worthington,  with  a 
laugh  that  was  not  pleasant  to  hear,  "  Jethro  Bass  is  as 
dead  as  Julius  Caesar." 

It  was  one  thing  for  Mr.  Dodd  to  promise  so  readily  a 
meeting  of  the  committee,  and  quite  another  to  decide 
how  he  was  going  to  get  through  the  affair  without  any 
more  burns  and  scratches  than  were  absolutely  necessary. 
He  had  reversed  the  usual  order,  and  had  been  in  the  fire 
—  now  he  was  going  to  the  frying-pan.  He  stood  in  the 
street  for  some  time,  pulling  at  his  tuft,  and  then  made  his 
way  to  Mr.  Jonathan  Hill's  feed  store.  Mr.  Hill  was 


436  CONISTON 

reading  "  Sartor  Resartus  "  in  his  little  office,  the  tempera 
ture  of  which  must  have  been  95°,  and  Mr.  Dodd  was  per 
spiring  when  he  got  there. 

"  It's  come,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  sententiously. 

"What's  come  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Hill,  mildly. 

"Isaac  D.'s  come,  that's  what,"  said  Mr.  Dodd.  "I 
hain't  b'en  sleepin'  well  of  nights,  lately.  I  can't  think 
what  we  was  about,  Jonathan,  puttin'  that  girl  in  the 
school.  We'd  ought  to've  knowed  she  wahn't  fit." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Hill. 

"  Matter  witli  her  !  "  exclaimed  his  fellow-committee- 
man,  "  she  lives  with  Jethro  Bass  —  she's  his  ward." 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ?  "  said  Mr.  Hill,  who  never  bothered 
himself  about  gossip  or  newspapers,  or  indeed  about  any 
thing  not  between  the  covers  of  a  book,  except  when  he 
couldn't  help  it. 

"  Good  God  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Dodd,  "  he's  the  most 
notorious,  depraved  man  in  the  state.  Hain't  we  got  to 
look  out  for  the  fair  name  of  Brampton  ?  " 

Mr.  Hill  sighed  and  closed  his  book. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I'd  hoped  we  were  through  with  that. 
Let's  go  up  and  see  what  Judge  Graves  says  about  it." 

"  Hold  on,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  seizing  the  feed  dealer  by 
the  coat,  "we've  got  to  get  it  fixed  in  our  minds  what 
we're  goin'  to  do,  first.  We  can't  allow  no  notorious 
people  in  our  schools.  We've  got  to  stand  up  to  the  jedge, 
and  tell  him  so.  We  app'inted  her  on  his  recommendation, 
you  know." 

"  I  like  the  girl,"  replied  Mr.  Hill ;  "  I  don't  think  we 
ever  had  a  better  teacher.  She's  quiet,  and  nice  appearin', 
and  attends  to  her  business." 

Mr.  Dodd  pulled  his  tuft,  and  cocked  his  head. 

"  Mr.  Worthington  holds  a  note  of  yours,  don't  he, 
Jonathan  ?  " 

Mr.  Hill  reflected.  He  said  he  thought  perhaps  Mr. 
Worthington  did. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  "  I  guess  we  might  as  well  go 
along  up  to  the  jedge  now  as  any  time." 

But  when  they  got  there  Mr.  Dodd's  knock  was  so  timid 


THE  LORD  OF  BRAMPTON  RETURNS    437 

that  he  had  to  repeat  it  before  the  judge  came  to  the  door 
and  peered  at  them  over  his  spectacles. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  he  asked, 
severely,  though  he  knew  well  enough.  He  had  not  been 
taken  by  surprise  many  times  during  the  last  forty  years. 
Mr.  Dodd  explained  that  they  wished  a  little  meeting  of 
the  committee.  The  judge  ushered  them  into  his  bed 
room,  the  parlor  being  too  good  for  such  an  occasion. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "let  us  get  down  to  busi 
ness.  Mr.  Worthington  arrived  here  to-day,  he  has  seen 
Mr.  Dodd,  and  Mr.  Dodd  has  seen  Mr.  Hill.  Mr.  Worth 
ington  is  a  political  opponent  of  Jethro  Bass,  and  wishes 
Miss  Wetherell  dismissed.  Mr.  Dodd  and  Mr.  Hill  have 
agreed,  for  various  reasons  which  I  will  spare  you,  that 
Miss  Wetherell  should  be  dismissed.  Have  I  stated  the 
case,  gentlemen,  or  have  I  not  ?  " 

Mr.  Graves  took  off  his  spectacles  and  wiped  them, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other  of  his  very  uncomfortable 
fellow-members.  Mr.  Hill  did  not  attempt  to  speak  ;  but 
Mr.  Dodd,  who  was  not  sure  now  that  this  was  not  the  fire 
and  the  other  the  frying-pan,  pulled  at  his  tuft  until 
words  came  to  him. 

"  Jedge,"  he  said  finally,  "  I  must  say  I'm  a  mite  sur 
prised.  I  must  say  your  language  is  unwarranted." 

"  The  truth  is  never  unwarranted,"  said  the  judge. 

"  For  the  sake  of  the  fair  name  of  Brampton,"  began 
Mr.  Dodd,  "we  cannot  allow  —  " 

"Mr.  Dodd,"  interrupted  the  judge,  "I  would  rather 
have  Mr.  Worthington's  arguments  from  Mr.  Worthing 
ton  himself,  if  I  wanted  them  at  all.  There  is  no  need  of 
prolonging  this  meeting.  If  I  were  to  waste  my  breath 
until  six  o'clock,  it  would  be  no  use.  I  was  about  to  say 
that  your  opinions  were  formed,  but  I  will  alter  that,  and 
say  that  your  minds  are  fixed.  You  are  determined  to 
dismiss  Miss  Wetherell.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"  I  wish  you'd  hear  me,  Jedge,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  des 
perately. 

"  Will  you  kindly  answer  me  yes  or  no  to  that  ques 
tion,"  said  the  judge  ;  "my  time  is  valuable." 


438  CONISTON 

"  Well,  if  you  put  it  that  way,  I  guess  we  are  agreed 
that  she  hadn't  ought  to  stay.  Not  that  I've  anything 
against  her  personally — " 

"  All  right,"  said  the  judge,  with  a  calmness  that  made 
them  tremble.  They  had  never  bearded  him  before.  "  All 
right,  you  are  two  to  one  and  no  certificate  has  been  issued. 
But  I  tell  you  this,  gentlemen,  that  you  will  live  to  see 
the  day  when  you  will  bitterly  regret  this  injustice  to  an 
innocent  and  a  noble  woman,  and  Isaac  D.  Worthington 
will  live  to  regret  it.  You  may  tell  him  I  said  so.  Good 
day,  gentlemen." 

They  rose. 

"  Jedge,"  began  Mr.  Dodd  again,  "  I  don't  think  you've 
been  quite  fair  with  us." 

"  Fair !  "  repeated  the  judge,  with  unutterable  scorn. 
"Good  day,  gentlemen."  And  he  slammed  the  door  be 
hind  them. 

They  walked  down  the  street  some  distance  before 
either  of  them  spoke. 

"  Goliah,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  at  last,  "did  you  ever  hear  such 
talk  ?  He's  got  the  drattedest  temper  of  any  man  I  ever 
knew,  and  he  never  callates  to  make  a  mistake.  It's  a 
little  mite  hard  to  do  your  duty  when  a  man  talks  that  way." 

"  I'm  not  sure  we've  done  it,"  answered  Mr.  Hill. 

"  Not  sure  !  "  ejaculated  the  hardware  dealer,  for  he  was 
now  far  enough  away  from  the  judge's  house  to  speak 
in  his  normal  tone,  "and  she  connected  with  that  de 
praved —  " 

"  Hold  on,"  said  Mr.  Hill,  with  an  astonishing  amount 
of  spirit  for  him,  "I've  heard  that  before." 

Mr.  Dodd  looked  at  him,  swallowed  the  wrong  way  and 
began  to  choke. 

"  You  hain't  wavered,  Jonathan  ?"  he  said,  when  he  got 
his  breath. 

"No,  I  haven't,"  said  Mr.  Hill,  sadly;  "but  I  wish  to 
hell  I  had." 

Mr.  Dodd  looked  at  him  again,  and  began  to  choke 
again.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  known  Jonathan  Hill 
to  swear. 


THE  LOED  OF  BRAMPTON  RETURNS    439 

"  You're  a-goin'  to  stick  by  what  you  agreed  —  by  your 
principles  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  stick  by  my  bread  and  butter,"  said  Mr. 
Hill,  "  not  by  my  principles.  I  wish  to  hell  I  wasn't." 

And  so  saying  that  gentleman  departed,  cutting  diago 
nally  across  the  street  through  the  snow,  leaving  Mr. 
Dodd  still  choking  and  pulling  at  his  tuft.  This  third  and 
totally  unexpected  shaking-up  had  caused  him  to  feel 
somewhat  deranged  internally,  though  it  had  not  altered 
the  opinions  now  so  firmly  planted  in  his  head.  After  a 
few  moments,  however,  he  had  collected  himself  sufficiently 
to  move  on  once  more,  when  he  discovered  that  he  was 
repeating  to  himself,  quite  unconsciously,  Mr.  Hill's  pro 
fanity  "  I  wish  to  hell  I  wasn't."  The  iron  mastiffs  glaring 
at  him  angrily  out  of  the  snow  banks  reminded  him  that  he 
was  in  front  of  Mr.  Worthingtori's  door,  and  he  thought  he 
might  as  well  go  in  at  once  and  receive  the  great  man's 
gratitude.  He  certainly  deserved  it.  But  as  he  put  his 
hand  on  the  bell  Mr.  Worthington  himself  came  out  of 
the  house,  and  would  actually  have  gone  by  without  notic 
ing  Mr.  Dodd  if  he  had  not  spoken. 

"  I've  got  that  little  matter  fixed,  Mr.  Worthington,"  he 
said,  "  called  the  committee,  and  we  voted  to  discharge 
the  —  the  young  woman."  No,  he  did  not  deliver  Judge 
Graves's  message. 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Dodd,"  answered  the  great  man,  pass 
ing  on  so  that  Mr.  Dodd  was  obliged  to  follow  him  in 
order  to  hear,  "  I'm  glad  you've  come  to  your  senses  at 
last.  Kindly  step  into  the  library  and  tell  Miss  Bruce 
from  me  that  she  may  fill  the  place  to-morrow." 

"  Certain,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  with  his  hand  to  his  chin. 
He  watched  the  great  man  turn  in  at  his  bank  in  the  new 
block,  and  then  he  did  as  he  was  bid. 

By  the  time  school  was  out  that  day  the  news  had 
leaped  across  Brampton  Street  and  spread  up  and  down 
both  sides  of  it  that  the  new  teacher  had  been  dismissed. 
The  story  ran  fairly  straight  —  there  were  enough  clews, 
certainly.  The  great  man's  return,  the  visit  of  Mr.  Dodd, 
the  call  on  Judge  Graves,  all  had  been  marked.  The 


440  CONISTON 

fiat  of  the  first  citizen  had  gone  forth  that  the  ward  of 
Jethro  Bass  must  be  got  rid  of  ;  the  designing  young 
woman  who  had  sought  to  entrap  his  son  must  be  punished 
for  her  amazing  effrontery. 

Cynthia  came  out  of  school  happily  unaware  that  her 
name  was  on  the  lips  of  Brampton:  unaware,  too,  that  the 
lord  of  the  place  had  come  into  residence  that  day.  She 
had  looked  forward  to  living  in  the  same  town  with  Bob's 
father  as  an  evil  which  was  necessary  to  be  borne,  as  one 
of  the  things  which  are  more  or  less  inevitable  in  the 
lives  of  those  who  have  to  make  their  own  ways  in  the 
world.  The  children  trooped  around  her,  and  the  little 
girls  held  her  hand,  and  she  talked  and  laughed  with 
them  as  she  came  up  the  street  in  the  eyes  of  Brampton, 
—  came  up  the  street  to  the  block  of  new  buildings  where 
the  bank  was.  Stepping  out  of  the  bank,  with  that 
businesslike  alertness  which  characterized  him,  was  the 
first  citizen  —  none  other.  He  found  himself  entangled 
among  the  romping  children  and  —  horror  of  horrors  — 
he  bumped  against  the  schoolmistress  herself !  Wors^  than 
this,  he  had  taken  off  his  hat  and  begged  her  pardon  before 
he  looked  at  her  and  realized  the  enormity  of  his  mistake. 
And  the  schoolmistress  had  actually  paid  no  attention  to 
him,  but  with  merely  heightened  color  had  drawn  the 
children  out  of  his  way  and  passed  on  without  a  word. 
The  first  citizen,  raging  inwardly,  but  trying  to  appear 
unconcerned,  walked  rapidly  back  to  his  house.  On  the 
street  of  his  own  town,  before  the  eyes  of  men,  he  had  been 
snubbed  by  a  school-teacher.  And  such  a  school-teacher! 

Mr.  Worthington,  as  he  paced  his  library  burning  with 
the  shame  of  this  occurrence,  remembered  that  he  had  had 
to  glance  at  her  twice  before  it  came  over  him  who  she 
was.  His  first  sensation  had  been  astonishment.  And  now, 
in  spite  of  his  bitter  anger,  he  had  to  acknowledge  that 
the  face  had  made  an  impression  on  him  —  a  fact  that  only 
served  to  increase  his  rage.  A  conviction  grew  upon  him 
that  it  was  a  face  which  his  son,  or  any  other  man,  would 
not  be  likely  to  forget.  He  himself  could  not  forget  it. 

In  the  meantime  Cynthia  had  reached  her  home,  her 


THE  LOED  OF  BEAMPTON  EETUENS   441 

cheeks  still  smarting,  conscious  that  people  had  stared  at 
her.  This  much,  of  course,  she  knew  —  that  Brampton 
believed  Bob  Worthington  to  be  in  love  with  her:  and  the 
knowledge  at  such  times  made  her  so  miserable  that  the 
thought  of  Jethro's  isolation  alone  deterred  her  from  ask 
ing  Miss  Lucretia  Penniman  for  a  position  in  Boston. 
For  she  wrote  to  Miss  Lucretia  about  her  life  and  her 
reading,  as  that  lady  had  made  her  promise  to  do.  She  sat 
down  now  at  the  cherry  chest  of  drawers  that  was  also 
a  desk,  to  write:  not  to  pour  out  her  troubles,  for  she 
never  had  done  that,  —  but  to  calm  her  mind  by  draw 
ing  little  character  sketches  of  her  pupils.  But  she  had 
only  written  the  words,  "  My  dear  Miss  Lucretia,"  when 
she  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  Judge  Graves  com 
ing  up  the  path,  and  ran  to  open  the  door  for  him. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Judge  ?  "  she  said,  for  she  recognized 
Mr.  Graves  as  one  of  her  few  friends  in  Brampton.  "  I 
have  sent  to  Boston  for  the  new  reader,  but  it  has  not 
come." 

The  judge  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  and  led  her  into 
the  little  sitting  room.  His  face  was  very  stern,  but  his 
eyes,  which  had  flung  fire  at  Mr.  Dodd,  looked  at  her  with 
a  vast  compassion.  Her  heart  misgave  her. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  —  it  was  long  since  the  judge  had 
called  any  woman  "  my  dear,"  —  "I  have  bad  news  for  you. 
The  committee  have  decided  that  you  cannot  teach  any 
longer  in  the  Brampton  school." 

"  Oh,  Judge,"  she  answered,  trying  to  force  back  the 
tears  which  would  come,  "  I  have  tried  so  hard.  I 
had  begun  to  believe  that  I  could  fill  the  place." 

"  Fill  the  place !  "  cried  the  judge,  startling  her  with 
his  sudden  anger.  "  No  woman  in  the  state  can  fill  it  bet 
ter  than  you." 

"  Then  why  am  I  dismissed?  "  she  asked  breathlessly. 

The  judge  looked  at  her  in  silence,  his  blue  lips  quiver 
ing.  Sometimes  even  he  found  it  hard  to  tell  the  truth. 
And  yet  he  had  come  to  tell  it,  that  she  might  suffer  less. 
He  remembered  the  time  when  Isaac  D.  Worthington  had 
done  him  a  great  wrong. 


442  CONISTON 

"  You  are  dismissed,"  he  said,  "  because  Mr.  Worthing- 
ton  has  come  home,  and  because  the  two  other  members  of 
the  committee  are  dogs  and  cowards."  Mr.  Graves  never 
minced  matters  when  he  began,  and  his  voice  shook  with 
passion.  "  If  Mr.  Errol  had  examined  you,  and  you  had 
your  certificate,  it  might  have  been  different.  Errol  is  not 
a  sycophant.  Worthington  does  not  hold  his  mortgage." 

"  Mortgage  !  "  exclaimed  Cynthia.  The  word  always 
struck  terror  to  her  soul. 

"  Mr.  Worthington  holds  Mr.  Hill's  mortgage,"  said 
Mr.  Graves,  more  than  ever  beside  himself  at  the  sight 
of  her  suffering.  "  That  man's  tyranny  is  not  to  be 
borne.  We  will  not  give  up,  Cynthia.  I  will  fight  him 
in  this  matter  if  it  takes  my  last  ounce  of  strength^  so  help 
me  God ! " 

Mortgage!  Cynthia  sank  down  in  the  chair  by  the 
desk.  In  spite  of  the  misery  the  news  had  brought,  the 
thought  that  his  father,  too,  who  was  fighting  Jethro  Bass 
as  a  righteous  man,  dealt  in  mortgages  and  coerced  men 
to  do  his  will,  was  overwhelming.  So  she  sat  for  a  while 
staring  at  the  landscape  on  the  old  wall  paper. 

"  I  will  go  to  Coniston  to-night,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  No,"  cried  the  judge,  seizing  her  shoulder  in  his  ex 
citement,  "  no.  Do  you  think  that  I  have  been  your 
friend  —  that  I  am  your  friend  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Judge  Graves  —  " 

"  Then  stay  here,  where  you  are.  I  ask  it  as  a  favor  to 
me.  You  need  not  go  to  the  school  to-morrow — indeed,  you 
cannot.  But  stay  here  for  a  day  or  two  at  least,  and  if 
there  is  any  justice  left  in  a  free  country,  we  shall  have  it. 
Will  you  stay,  as  a  favor  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  will  stay,  since  you  ask  it,"  said  Cynthia.  "  I  will  do 
what  you  think  right." 

Her  voice  was  firmer  than  he  expected  —  much  firmer. 
He  glanced  at  her  quickly,  with  something  very  like  ad 
miration  in  his  eye. 

"  You  are  a  good  woman,  and  a  brave  woman,"  he  said, 
and  with  this  somewhat  surprising  tribute  he  took  his 
departure  instantly. 


THE  LOED  OF  BEAMPTON  EETUENS    443 

Cynthia  was  left  to  her  thoughts,  and  these  were  harass 
ing  and  sorrowful  enough.  One  idea,  however,  persisted 
through  them  all.  Mr.  Worthington,  whose  power  she 
had  lived  long  enough  in  Brampton  to  know,  was  an  unjust 
man  and  a  hypocrite.  That  thought  was  both  sweet  and 
bitter  :  sweet,  as  a  retribution  ;  and  bitter,  because  he  was 
Bob's  father.  She  realized,  now,  that  Bob  knew  these  things, 
and  she  respected  and  loved  him  the  more,  if  that  were 
possible,  because  he  had  refrained  from  speaking  of  them 
to  her.  And  now  another  thought  came,  and  though  she 
put  it  resolutely  from  her,  persisted.  Was  she  not  justi 
fied  now  in  marrying  him  ?  The  reasoning  was  false,  so 
she  told  herself.  She  had  no  right  to  separate  Bob  from 
his  father,  whatever  his  father  might  be.  Did  not  she 
still  love  Jethro  Bass  ?  Yes,  but  he  had  renounced  his 
ways.  Her  heart  swelled  gratefully  as  she  spoke  the 
words  to  herself,  and  she  reflected  that  he,  at  least,  had 
never  been  a  hypocrite. 

Of  one  thing  she  was  sure,  now.  In  the  matter  of  the 
school  she  had  right  on  her  side,  and  she  must  allow  Judge 
Graves  to  do  whatever  he  thought  proper  to  maintain  that 
right.  If  Isaac  D.  Worthington's  character  had  been  dif 
ferent,  this  would  not  have  been  her  decision.  Now  she 
would  not  leave  Brampton  in  disgrace,  when  she  had  done 
nothing  to  merit  it.  Not  that  she  believed  that  the  judge 
would  prevail  against  such  mighty  odds.  So  little  did  she 
think  so  that  she  fell,  presently,  into  a  despondency  which 
in  all  her  troubles  had  not  overtaken  her  —  the  despond 
ency  which  comes  even  to  the  pure  and  the  strong  when 
they  feel  the  unjust  strength  of  the  world  against  them. 
In  this  state  her  eyes  fell  on  the  letter  she  had  started  to 
Miss  Lucretia  Penniman,  and  in  desperation  she  began  to 
write. 

It  was  a  short  letter,  reserved  enough,  and  quite  in 
character.  It  was  right  that  she  should  defend  herself, 
which  she  did  with  dignity,  saying  that  she  believed  the 
committee  had  no  fault  to  find  with  her  duties,  but  that 
Mr.  Worthington  had  seen  fit  to  bring  influence  to  bear 
upon  them  because  of  her  connection  with  Jethro  Bass. 


444  CONISTON 

It  was  not  the  whole  truth,  but  Cynthia  could  not  bring 
herself  to  write  of  that  other  reason.  At  the  end  she 
asked,  very  simply,  if  Miss  Lucretia  could  find  her 
something  to  do  in  Boston  in  case  her  dismissal  became  cer 
tain.  Then  she  put  on  her  coat,  and  walked  to  the  post- 
office  to  post  the  letter,  for  she  resolved  that  there  could 
be  no  shame  without  reason  for  it.  There  was  a  little 
more  color  in  her  cheeks,  and  she  held  her  head  high,  pre 
paring  to  be  slighted.  But  she  was  not  slighted,  and  got 
more  salutations,  if  anything,  than  usual.  She  was,  in 
deed,  in  the  right  not  to  hide  her  head,  and  policy  alone 
would  have  forbade  it,  had  Cynthia  thought  of  policy. 


CHAPTER   XV 

CONTAINING   A   DKAMATIC   CLIMAX 

PUBLIC  opinion  is  like  the  wind  —  it  bloweth  where  it 
listeth.  It  whistled  around  Brampton  the  next  day, 
whirling  husbands  and  wives  apart,  and  families  into 
smithereens.  Brampton  had  a  storm  all  to  itself  —  save 
for  a  sympathetic  storm  raging  in  Coniston  —  and  all 
about  a  school-teacher. 

Had  Cynthia  been  a  certain  type  of  woman,  she  would 
have  had  all  the  men  on  her  side  and  all  of  her  own  sex 
against  her.  It  is  a  decided  point  to  be  recorded  in  her 
favor  that  she  had  among  her  sympathizers  as  many  women 
as  men.  But  the  excitement  of  a  day  long  remembered 
in  Brampton  began,  for  her,  when  a  score  or  more  of  chil 
dren  assembled  in  front  of  the  little  house,  tramping  down 
the  snow  on  the  grass  plots,  shouting  for  her  to  come  to 
school  with  them.  Children  give  no  mortgages,  or  keep 
no  hardware  stores. 

Cynthia,  trying  to  read  in  front  of  the  fire,  was  all  in  a 
tremble  at  the  sound  of  the  high-pitched  little  voices  she 
had  grown  to  love,  and  she  longed  to  go  out  and  kiss  the 
owners  every  one.  Her  nature,  however,  shrank  from 
any  act  which  might  appear  dramatic  or  sensational.  She 
could  not  resist  going  to  the  window  and  smiling  at  them, 
though  they  appeared  but  dimly  —  little  dancing  figures 
in  a  mist.  And  when  they  shouted,  the  more  she  shook 
her  head  and  put  her  finger  to  her  lips  in  reproof  and  van 
ished  from  their  sight.  Then  they  trooped  sadly  on  to 
school,  resolved  to  make  matters  as  disagreeable  as  pos 
sible  for  poor  Miss  Bruce,  who  had  not  offended  in  any 
way. 

445 


446 


CONTAINING  A  DRAMATIC  CLIMAX          447 

Two  other  episodes  worthy  of  a  place  in  this  act  of  the 
drama  occurred  that  morning,  and  one  had  to  do  with 
Ephraim.  Poor  Ephraim  !  His  way  had  ever  been  to 
fight  and  ask  no  questions,  and  in  his  journey  through 
the  world  he  had  gathered  but  little  knowledge  of  it.  He 
had  limped  home  the  night  before  in  a  state  of  anger  of 
which  Cynthia  had  not  believed  him  capable,  and  had  reap 
peared  in  the  sitting  room  in  his  best  suit  of  blue. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Cousin  Eph?"  Cynthia  had 
asked  suspiciously. 

"Never  you  mind,  Cynthy." 

"  But  I  do  mind,"  she  said,  catching  hold  of  his  sleeve. 
"I  won't  let  you  go  until  you  confess." 

"  I'm  a-goin'  to  tell  Isaac  Worthington  what  I  think 
of  him,  that's  whar  I'm  a-goin',"  cried  Ephraim — "what  I 
always  hev  thought  of  him  sence  he  sent  a  substitute  to 
the  war  an'  acted  treasonable  here  to  home  talkin'  ag'in' 
Lincoln." 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Eph,  you  mustn't,"  said  Cynthia,  clinging 
to  him  with  all  her  strength  in  her  dismay.  It  had  taken 
every  whit  of  her  influence  to  persuade  him  to  relinquish 
his  purpose.  Cynthia  knew  very  well  that  Ephraim  meant 
to  ld~j  hands  on  Mr.  Worthington,  and  it  would  indeed 
have  been  a  disastrous  hour  for  the  first  citizen  if  the  old 
soldier  had  ever  got  into  his  library.  Cynthia  pointed 
out,  as  best  she  might,  that  it  would  be  an  evil  hour  for 
her,  too,  and  that  her  cause  would  be  greatly  injured  by 
such  a  proceeding  ;  she  knew  very  well  that  it  would  ruin 
Ephraim,  but  he  would  not  have  listened  to  such  an  argu 
ment. 

The  next  thing  he  wished  to  do  was  to  go  to  Coniston  and 
rouse  Jethro.  Cynthia's  heart  stood  still  when  he  pro 
posed  this,  for  it  touched  upon  her  greatest  fear,  —  which 
had  impelled  her  to  go  to  Coniston.  But  she  had  hoped 
and  believed  that  Jethro,  knowing  her  feelings,  would  do 
nothing  —  since  for  her  sake  he  had  chosen  to  give  up  his 
power.  Now  an  acute  attack  of  rheumatism  had  come  to 
her  rescue,  and  she  succeeded  in  getting  Ephraim  off  to 
bed,  swathed  in  bandages. 


448  CONISTON 

The  next  morning  he  had  insisted  upon  hobbling  away 
to  the  post-office,  where  in  due  time  he  was  discovered  by 
certain  members  of  the  Brampton  Club  nailing  to  the  wall 
a  new  engraving  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  draping  it  with 
a  little  silk  flag  he  hr.d  bought  in  Boston.  By  which  it 
will  be  seen  that  a  portion  of  the  Club  were  coming  back 
to  their  old  haunt.  This  portion,  it  may  be  surmised,  was 
composed  of  such  persons  alone  as  were  likely  to  be 
welcomed  by  the  postmaster.  Some  of  these  had  grievances 
against  Mr.  Worthington  or  Mr.  Flint;  others,  in  more 
prosperous  circumstances,  might  have  been  moved  by 
envy  of  these  gentlemen  ;  still  others  might  have  been 
actuated  largely  by  righteous  resentment  at  what  they 
deemed  oppression  by  wealth  and  power.  These  members 
who  came  that  morning  comprised  about  one-fourth  of 
those  who  formerly  had  been  in  the  habit  of  dropping  in 
for  a  chat,  and  their  numbers  were  a  fair  indication  of  the 
fact  that  those  who  from  various  motives  took  the  part  of 
the  school-teacher  in  Brampton  were  as  one  to  three. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  repeat  their  expressions  of  indig 
nation  and  sympathy.  There  was  a  certain  Mr.  Gama 
liel  Ives  in  the  town,  belonging  to  an  old  Brampton 
family,  who  would  have  been  the  first  citizen  if  that  Hher 
first  citizen  had  not,  by  his  rise  to  wealth  and  power,  so 
completely  overshadowed  him.  Mr.  Ives  owned  a  small 
mill  on  Coniston  Water  below  the  town.  He  fairly  bubbled 
over  with  civic  pride,  and  he  was  an  authority  on  all 
matters  pertaining  to  Brampton's  history.  He  knew  the 
"  Hymn  to  Coniston  "  by  heart.  But  we  are  digressing  a 
little.  Mr.  Ives,  like  that  other  Gamaliel  of  old,  had 
exhorted  his  fellow-townsmen  to  wash  their  hands  of  the 
controversy.  But  he  was  an  intimate  of  Judge  Graves, 
and  after  talking  with  that  gentle  man  he  became  a  partisan 
overnight ;  and  when  he  had  stopped  to  get  his  mail  he 
had  been  lured  behind  the  window  by  the  debate  in  prog 
ress.  He  was  in  the  midst  of  some  impromptu  remarks 
when  he  recognized  a  certain  brisk  step  behind  him,  and 
—  Isaac  D.  Worthington  himself  entered  the  sanctum  I 

It  must  be  explained  that  Mr.  Worthington  sometimes 


CONTAINING  A  DRAMATIC  CLIMAX          449 

had  an  important  letter  to  be  registered  which  he  carried 
to  the  post-office  with  his  own  hands.  On  such  occasions 
—  though  not  a  member  of  the  Brampton  Club  —  he 
walked,  as  an  overlord  will,  into  any  private  place  he 
chose,  and  recognized  no  partitions  or  barriers.  Now 
he  handed  the  letter  (addressed  to  a  certain  person  in 
Cambridge,  Massachusetts)  to  the  postmaster. 

"  You  will  kindly  register  that  and  give  me  a  receipt, 
Mr.  Prescott,"  he  said. 

Ephraim  turned  from  his  contemplation  of  the  features 
of  the  martyred  President,  and  on  his  face  was  something 
of  the  look  it  might  have  worn  when  he  confronted  his 
enemies  over  the  log  works  at  F^ive  Forks.  No,  for  there 
was  a  vast  contempt  in  his  gaze  now,  and  he  had  had  no 
contempt  for  the  Southerners,  and  would  have  shaken  hands 
with  any  of  them  the  moment  the  battle  was  over.  Mr. 
Worthington,  in  spite  of  himself,  recoiled  a  little  before 
that  look,  fearing,  perhaps,  physical  violence. 

"  I  hain't  a-goin'  to  hurt  you,  Mr.  Worthington," 
Ephraim  said,  "but  I  am  a-goin'  to  ask  you  to  git  out  in 
front,  and  mighty  quick.  If  you  hev  any  business  with 
the  postmaster,  there's  the  window,"  and  Ephraim  pointed 
to  it  with  his  twisted  finger.  "  I  don't  allow  nobody  but 
my  friends  here,  Mr.  Worthington,  and  people  I  respect." 

Mr.  Worthington  looked  —  well,  eye-witnesses  give 
various  versions  as  to  how  he  looked.  All  agree  that  his 
lip  trembled  ;  some  say  his  eyes  watered :  at  any  rate,  he 
quailed,  stood  a  moment  undecided,  and  then  swung  on 
his  heel  and  walked  to  the  partition  door.  At  this  safe 
distance  he  turned. 

"  Mr.  Prescott,"  he  said,  his  voice  quivering  with  pas 
sion  and  perhaps  another  emotion,  "  I  will  make  it  my 
duty  to  report  to  the  postmaster-general  the  manner  in 
which  this  office  is  run.  Instead  of  attending  to  your 
business,  you  make  the  place  a  resort  for  loafers  and  idlers. 
Good  morning,  sir." 

Ten  minutes  later  Mr.  Flint  himself  came  to  register 
the  letter.     But  it  was  done  at  the  window,  and  the  loaf 
ers  and  idlers  were  still  there. 
2o 


450  CONTSTON 

The  curtain  had  risen  again,  indeed,  and  the  action  was 
soon  fast  enough  for  the  most  impatient  that  day.  No 
sooner  had  the  town  heard  with  bated  breath  of  the  ex 
pulsion  of  the  first  citizen  from  the  inner  sanctuary  of  the 
post-office,  than  the  news  of  another  event  began  to  go 
the  rounds.  Mr.  Worthington  had  other  and  more  im 
portant  things  to  think  about  than  minor  postmasters, 
and  after  his  anger  and — yes,  and  momentary  fear  had 
subsided,  he  forgot  the  incident  except  to  make  a  mental 
note  to  remember  to  deprive  Mr.  Prescott  of  his  post- 
mastership,  which  he  believed  could  be  done  readily 
enough  now  that  Jethro  Bass  was  out  of  the  way.  Then 
he  had  stepped  into  the  bank,  which  he  had  come  to  regard 
as  his  own  bank,  as  he  regarded  most  institutions  in  Bramp- 
ton.  He  had,  in  the  old  days,  been  president  of  it,  as  we 
know.  He  stepped  into  the  bank,  and  then  —  he  stepped 
out  again. 

Most  people  have  experienced  that  sickly  feeling  of  the 
diaphragm  which  sometimes  comes  from  a  sudden  shock. 
Mr.  Worthington  had  it  now  as  he  hurried  up  the  street, 
and  he  presently  discovered  that  he  was  walking  in  the 
direction  opposite  to  that  of  his  own  home.  He  crossed 
the  street,  made  a  pretence  of  going  into  Mr.  Goldthwaite's 
drug  store,  and  hurried  back  again.  When  he  reached 
his  own  library,  he  found  Mr.  Flint  busy  there  at  his  desk. 
Mr.  Flint  rose.  Mr.  Worthington  sat  down  and  began  to 
pull  the  papers  about  in  a  manner  which  betrayed  to  his 
seneschal  (who  knew  every  mood  of  his  master)  mental 
perturbation. 

"  Flint,"  he  said  at  last,  striving  his  best  for  an  indiffer 
ent  accent,  "Jethro  Bass  is  here — I  ran  across  him  just 
now  drawing  money  in  the  bank." 

"  I  could  have  told  you  that  this  morning,"  answered 
Mr.  Flint.  "  Wheeler,  who  runs  errands  for  him  in  Conis- 
ton,  drove  him  in  this  morning,  and  he's  been  with  Peleg 
Hartington  for  two  hours  over  Sherman's  livery  stable." 

An  interval  of  silence  followed,  during  which  Mr. 
Worthington  shuffled  with  his  letters  and  pretended  to 
read  them. 


CONTAINING  A  DRAMATIC  CLIMAX          451 

"  Graves  has  called  a  mass  meeting  to-night,  I  under 
stand,"  he  remarked  in  the  same  casual  way.  "  The  man's 
a  demagogue,  and  mad  as  a  loon.  I  believe  he  sent  back 
one  of  our  passes  once,  didn't  he  ?  I  suppose  Bass  has 
come  in  to  get  Hartington  to  work  up  the  meeting.  They'll 
be  laughed  out  of  the  town  hall,  or  hissed  out." 

"  I  guess  you'll  find  Bass  has  come  down  for  something 
else,"  said  Mr.  Flint,  looking  up  from  a  division  report. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Mr.  Worthington, 
changing  his  attitude  to  one  of  fierceness.  But  he  was  well 
aware  that  whatever  tone  he  took  with  his  seneschal,  he 
never  fooled  him. 

"  I  mean  what  I  told  you  yesterday,"  said  Flint,  "  that 
you've  stirred  up  the  dragon." 

Even  Mr.  Flint  did  not  know  how  like  a  knell  his  words 
sounded  in  Isaac  Worthington's  ears. 

"  Nonsense  I  "  he  cried,  "  you're  talking  nonsense,  Flint. 
We  maimed  him  too  thoroughly  for  that.  He  hasn't 
power  enough  left  to  carry  his  own  town." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  seneschal. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  said  his  master,  with 
extreme  irritation. 

"I  mean  what  I  said  yesterday,  that  we  haven't  maimed 
him  at  all.  He  had  his  own  reasons  for  going  into  his 
hole,  and  he  never  would  have  come  out  again  if  you  hadn't 
goaded  him.  Now  he's  out,  and  we'll  have  to  step  around 
pretty  lively,  I  can  tell  you,  or  he'll  maim  us." 

All  of   which  goes  to  show  that  Mr.  Flint  had  some 
notion  of  men  and  affairs.     He  became,  as  may  be  pre 
dieted,  the  head   of  many  material  things  in  later  days, 
and  he  may   sometime  reappear  in  company  with    other 
characters  in  this  story. 

The  sickly  feeling  in  Mr.  Worthington's  diaphragm  had 
now  returned. 

"I  think  you  will  find  you  are  mistaken,  Flint,"  he 
said,  attempting  dignity  now.  "Very  much  mistaken." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Flint,  "  perhaps  I  am.  But  I  believe 
you'll  find  he  left  for  the  capital  on  the  eleven  o'clock, 
and  if  you  take  the  trouble  to  inquire  from  Redding  you 


452 

will  probably  learn  that  the  Throne  Room  is  bespoken  for 
the  session." 

All  of  that  which  Mr.  Flint  had  predicted  turned  out 
to  be  true.  The  dragon  had  indeed  waked  up.  It  all 
began  with  the  news  Milly  Skinner  had  got  from  the  stage 
driver,  imparted  to  Jethro  as  he  sat  reading  about  Hiawatha. 
And  terrible  indeed  had  been  that  awakening.  This 
dragon  did  not  bellow  and  roar  and  lash  his  tail  when  he 
was  roused,  but  he  stood  up,  and  there  seemed  to  emanate 
from  him  a  fire  which  frightened  poor  Milly  Skinner, 
upset  though  she  was  by  the  news  of  Cynthia's  dismissal. 
O,  wondrous  and  paradoxical  might  of  love,  which  can 
tame  the  most  powerful  of  beasts,  and  stir  them  again  into 
furies  by  a  touch  ! 

Coniston  was  the  first  to  tremble,  as  though  the  forces 
stretching  themselves  in  the  tannery  house  were  shaking 
the  very  ground,  and  the  name  of  Jethro  Bass  took  on 
once  more,  as  by  magic,  a  terrible  meaning.  When  Vesu 
vius  is  silent,  pygmies  may  make  faces  on  the  very  lip  of  the 
crater,  and  they  on  the  slopes  forget  the  black  terror  of 
the  fiery  hail.  Jake  Wheeler  himself,  loyal  as  he  was,  did 
not  care  to  look  into  the  crater  now  that  he  was  summoned  ; 
but  a  force  pulled  him  all  the  way  to  the  tannery  house. 
He  left  behind  him  an  awe-stricken  gathering  at  the  store, 
composed  of  inhabitants  who  had  recently  spoken  slight 
ingly  of  the  volcano. 

We  are  getting  a  little  mixed  in  our  metaphors  between 
lions  and  dragons  and  volcanoes,  and  yet  none  of  them  are  too 
strong  to  represent  Jethro  Bass  when  he  heard  that  Isaac 
Wrorthington  had  had  the  teacher  dismissed  from  Bramp- 
ton  lower  school.  He  did  not  stop  to  reason  then  that 
action  might  distress  her.  The  beast  in  him  awoke  again ; 
the  desire  for  vengeance  on  a  man  whom  he  had  hated 
most  of  his  life,  and  who  now  had  dared  to  cause  pain  to 
the  woman  whom  he  loved  with  all  his  soul,  and  even  idol 
ized,  was  too  great  to  resist.  He  had  no  thought  of  re 
sisting  it,  for  the  waters  of  it  swept  over  his  soul  like  the 
Atlantic  over  a  lost  continent.  He  would  crush  Isaac 
Worthington  if  it  took  the  last  breath  from  his  body. 


CONTAINING  A  DRAMATIC  CLIMAX          453 

Jake  went  to  the  tannery  house  and  received  his  orders 
—  orders  of  which  he  made  a  great  mystery  afterward  at 
the  store,  although  they  consisted  simply  of  directions  to 
be  prepared  to  drive  Jethro  to  Brampton  the  next  morn 
ing.  But  the  look  of  the  man  had  frightened  Jake.  He 
had  never  seen  vengeance  so  indelibly  written  on  that 
face,  and  he  had  never  before  realized  the  terrible  power 
of  vengeance.  Mr.  Wheeler  returned  from  that  meeting 
in  such  a  state  of  trepidation  that  he  found  it  necessary  to 
accompany  Rias  to  a  certain  keg  in  the  cellar  ;  after  which 
he  found  his  tongue.  His  description  of  Jethro's  appear 
ance  awed  his  hearers,  and  Jake  declared  that  he  would 
not  be  in  Isaac  Worthington's  shoes  for  all  of  Isaac  Worth- 
ington's  money.  There  were  others  right  here  in  Coniston, 
Jake  hinted,  who  might  now  find  it  convenient  to  emigrate 
to  the  far  West. 

Jethro's  face  had  not  changed  when  Jake  drove  him 
out  of  Coniston  the  next  morning.  Good  Mr.  Satterlee 
saw  it,  and  felt  that  the  visit  he  had  wished  to  make  would 
have  been  useless  ;  Mr.  Amos  Cuthbert  and  Mr.  Sam 
Price  saw  it,  from  a  safe  distance  within  the  store,  and  it 
is  a  fact  that  Mr.  Price  seriously  thought  of  taking 
Mr.  Wheeler's  advice  about  a  residence  in  the  West  ; 
Mr.  Cuthbert,  of  a  sterner  nature,  made  up  his  mind  to  be 
hung  and  quartered.  A  few  minutes  before  Jethro  walked 
into  his  office  over  the  livery  stable,  Senator  Peleg  Hart- 
ington  would  have  denied,  with  that  peculiar  and  mourn 
ful  scorn  of  which  he  was  master,  that  Jethro  Bass  could 
ever  again  have  any  influence  over  him.  Peleg  was, 
indeed,  at  that  ,  oment  preparing,  in  his  own  way,  to 
make  overtures  to  the  party  of  Isaac  D.  Worthington. 
Jethro  walked  into  the  office,  leaving  Jake  below  with 
Mr.  Sherman  ;  and  Senator  Hartington  was  very  glad 
he  had  not  made  the  overtures.  And  when  he  ac 
companied  Jethro  to  the  station  when  he  left  for  the 
capital,  the  senator  felt  that  the  eyes  of  men  were  upon 
him. 

And  Cynthia?  Happily,  Cynthia  passed  the  day  in 
Ignorance  that  Jethro  had  gone  through  Brampton. 


454  CONISTON 

Ephraim,  though  he  knew  of  it,  did  not  speak  of  it  when 
he  came  home  to  his  dinner  ;  Mr.  Graves  had  called,  and 
informed  her  of  the  meeting  in  the  town  hall  that  night. 

"  It  is  our  only  chance,"  he  said  obdurately,  in  answer 
to  her  protests.  "  We  must  lay  the  case  before  the  people 
of  Brampton.  If  they  have  not  the  courage  to  right  the 
wrong,  and  force  your  reinstatement  through  public  opin 
ion,  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  done." 

To  Cynthia,  the  idea  of  having  a  mass  meeting  concern 
ing  herself  was  particularly  repellent. 

"  Oh,  Judge  Graves  ! "  she  cried,  "if  there  isn't  any  other 
way,  please  drop  the  matter.  There  are  plenty  of  teachers 
who  will  —  be  acceptable  to  everybody." 

"  Cynthia,"  said  the  judge,  "I  can  understand  that  this 
publicity  is  very  painful  to  you.  I  beg  you  to  remember 
that  we  are  contending  for  a  principle.  In  such  cases  the 
individual  must  be  sacrificed  to  the  common  good." 

"  But  I  cannot  go  to  the  meeting  —  I  cannot." 

"  No,"  said  the  judge  ;  "  I  don't  think  that  will  be 
necessary." 

After  he  was  gone,  she  could  think  of  nothing  but  the 
horror  of  having  her  name — yes,  and  her  character  —  dis 
cussed  in  that  public  place  ;  and  it  seemed  to  her,  if  she 
listened,  she  could  hear  a  clatter  of  tongues  throughout 
the  length  of  Brampton  Street,  and  that  she  must  fain 
stop  her  ears  or  go  mad.  The  few  ladies  who  called  dur 
ing  the  day  out  of  kindness  or  curiosity,  or  both,  only 
added  to  her  torture.  She  was  not  one  who  could  open 
her  heart  to  acquaintances  :  the  curious  ones  got  but  little 
satisfaction,  and  the  kind  ones  thought  )  3r  cold,  and  they 
did  not  perceive  that  she  was  really  grate  ml  for  their  little 
attentions.  Gratitude,  on  such  occasions,  does  not  always 
consist  in  pouring  out  one's  troubles  in  the  laps  of 
visitors. 

So  the  visitors  went  home,  wondering  whether  it  were 
worth  while  after  all  to  interest  themselves  in  the  cause 
of  such  a  self-contained  and  self-reliant  young  woman. 
In  spite  of  all  her  efforts,  Cynthia  had  never  wholly  suc 
ceeded  in  making  most  of  the  Brampton  ladies  believe 


CONTAINING  A  DRAMATIC  CLIMAX          455 

that  she  did  not  secretly  deem  herself  above  them.  They 
belonged  to  a  reserved  race  themselves  ;  but  Cynthia  had 
a  reserve  which  was  even  different  from  their  own. 

As  night  drew  on  the  predictions  of  Mr.  Worthington 
seemed  likely  to  be  fulfilled,  and  it  looked  as  if  Judge  Graves 
would  have  a  useless  bill  to  pay  for  gas  in  the  new  town  hall. 
The  judge  had  never  been  a  man  who  could  compel  a  fol 
lowing,  and  he  had  no  magnetism  with  which  to  lead  a 
cause  :  the  town  tradesmen,  especially  those  in  the  new 
brick  block,  would  be  chary  as  to  risking  the  displeasure 
of  their  best  customer.  At  half-past  seven  Mr.  Graves 
came  in,  alone,  and  sat  on  the  platform  staring  grimly  at 
his  gas.  Is  there  a  lecturer,  or  a  playwright,  or  a  politi 
cian,  who  has  not,  at  one  time  or  another,  been  in  the 
judge's  place  ?  Who  cannot  sympathize  with  him  as  he 
watched  the  thin  and  hesitating  stream  of  people  out  of 
the  corner  of  his  eye  as  they  came  in  at  the  door  ?  The 
judge  despised  them  with  all  his  soul,  but  it  is  human 
nature  not  to  wish  to  sit  in  a  hall  or  a  theatre  that  is  three- 
quarters  empty. 

At  sixteen  minutes  to  eight  a  mild  excitement  occurred, 
an  incident  of  some  significance  which  served  to  detain 
many  waverers.  Senator  Peleg  Hartington  walked  up 
the  aisle,  and  the  judge  rose  and  shook  him  by  the  hand, 
and  as  Deacon  Hartington  he  was  invited  to  sit  on  the 
platform.  The  senator's  personal  influence  was  not  to 
be  ignored  ;  and  it  had  sufficed  to  carry  his  district  in  the 
last  election  against  the  Worthington  forces,  in  spite  of 
the  abdication  of  Jethro  Bass.  Mr.  Page,  the  editor  of 
the  Clarion,  Senator  Hartington's  organ,  was  also  on  the 
platform.  But  where  was  Mr.  Ives?  Where  was  that 
Gamaliel  who  had  been  such  a  warm  partisan  in  the  post- 
office  that  morning  ? 

"  Saw  him  outside  the  hall  —  wahn't  but  ten  minutes 
ago,"  said  Deacon  Hartington,  sadly;  "thought  he  was 
a-comin'  in." 

Eight  o'clock  came,  and  no  Mr.  Ives  ;  ten  minutes  past 
—  fifteen  minutes  past.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  Mr. 
Ives  had  been  on  the  very  threshold  of  the  hall,  and  one 


456  CONISTON 

glance  at  the  poor  sprinkling  of  people  there  had  decided 
him.  Mr.  Ives  had  a  natural  aversion  to  being  laughed 
at,  and  as  he  walked  back  on  the  darker  side  of  the  street 
ne  wished  heartily  that  he  had  stuck  to  his  original 
Gamaliel-advocacy  of  no  interference,  of  allowing  the 
Supreme  Judge  to  decide.  Such  opinions  were  inevi 
tably  just,  Mr.  Ives  was  well  aware,  though  not  always 
handed  down  immediately.  If  he  were  to  humble  the  first 
citizen,  Mr.  Ives  reflected  that  a  better  opportunity  might 
present  itself.  The  whistle  of  the  up-train  served  to 
strengthen  his  resolution,  for  he  was  reminded  thereby 
that  his  mill  often  had  occasion  to  ask  favors  of  the  Truro 
Railroad. 

In  the  meantime  it  was  twenty  minutes  past  eight  in  the 
town  hall,  and  Mr.  Graves  had  not  rapped  for  order. 
Deacon  Hartingtoh  sat  as  motionless  as  a  stork  on  the  bor 
ders  of  a  glassy  lake  at  sunrise,  the  judge  had  begun  seri 
ously  to  estimate  the  gas  bill,  and  Mr.  Page  had  chewed 
up  the  end  of  a  pencil.  There  was  one,  at  least,  in  the 
audience  of  whom  the  judge  could  be  sure.  A  certain  old 
soldier  in  blue  sat  uncompromisingly  on  the  front  bench 
with  his  hands  crossed  over  the  head  of  his  stick ;  but  the 
ladies  and  gentlemen  nearest  the  door  were  beginning  to 
vanish,  one  by  one,  silently  as  ghosts,  when  suddenly 
the  judge  sat  up.  He  would  have  rubbed  his  eyes,  had  he 
been  that  kind  of  a  man.  Four  persons  had  entered  the 
hall  —  he  was  sure  of  it  —  and  with  no  uncertain  steps 
as  if  frightened  by  its  emptiness.  No,  they  came  boldly. 
And  after  them  trooped  others,  and  still  others  were  heard 
in  the  street  beyond,  not  whispering,  but  talking  in  the  un 
mistakable  tones  of  people  who  had  more  coming  behind 
them.  Yes,  and  more  came.  It  was  no  illusion,  or  delu 
sion  :  there  they  were  filling  the  hall  as  if  they  meant  to 
stay,  and  buzzing  with  excitement.  The  judge  was  quiver 
ing  with  excitement  now,  but  he,  too,  was  only  a  spectator 
of  the  drama.  And  what  a  drama,  with  a  miracle-play  for 
Brampton ! 

Mr.  Page  rose  from  his  chair  and  leaned  over  the  edge 
of  the  platform  that  something  might  be  whispered  in  his 


CONTAINING  A  DRAMATIC  CLIMAX          457 

ear.  The  news,  whatever  it  was,  was  apparently  electrify 
ing,  and  after  the  first  shock  he  turned  to  impart  it  to  Mr. 
Graves  ;  but  turned  too  late,  for  the  judge  had  already 
rapped  for  order  and  was  clearing  his  throat.  He  could 
not  account  for  this  extraordinary  and  unlooked-for  audi 
ence,  among  whom  he  spied  many  who  had  thought  it 
wiser  not  to  protest  against  the  dictum  of  the  first  citizen, 
and  many  who  had  professed  to  believe  that  the  teacher's 
connection  with  Jethro  Bass  was  a  good  and  sufficient 
reason  for  dismissal.  The  judge  was  prepared  to  take 
advantage  of  the  tide,  whatever  its  cause. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  take  the  liberty  of 
calling  this  meeting  to  order.  And  before  a  chairman  be 
elected,  I  mean  to  ask  your  indulgence  to  explain  my  pur 
poses  in  requesting  the  use  of  this  hall  to-night.  In  our 
system  of  government,  the  inalienable  and  most  precious 
gift-" 

Whatever  the  gift  was,  the  judge  never  explained.  He 
paused  at  the  words,  and  repeated  them,  and  stopped  alto 
gether  because  no  one  was  paying  any  attention  to  him. 
The  hall  was  almost  full,  the  people  had  risen,  with  a  hum, 
and  as  one  man  had  turned  toward  the  door.  Mr.  Gamaliel 
Ives  was  triumphantly  marching  down  the  aisle,  and  with 
him  was  —  well,  another  person.  Nay,  personage  would 
perhaps  be  the  better  word. 

Let  us  go  back  for  a  moment.  There  descended  from 
that  train  of  which  we  have  heard  the  whistle  a  lady  with 
features  of  no  ordinary  moulding,  with  curls  and  a  string 
bonnet  and  a  cloak  that  seemed  strangely  to  harmonize 
with  the  lady's  character.  She  had  the  way  of  one  in  au 
thority,  and  Mr.  Sherman  himself  ran  to  open  the  door  oi 
his  only  closed  carriage,  and  the  driver  galloped  off  with  her 
all  the  way  to  the  Brampton  House.  Once  there,  the  lady 
seized  the  pen  as  a  soldier  seizes  the  sword,  and  wrote  her 
name  in  most  uncompromising  characters  on  the  register, 
Miss  Lucretia  Penniman,  Boston.  Then  she  marched  up 
to  her  room. 

Miss  Lucretia  Penniman,  author  of  the  "  Hymn  to  Con- 
iston,"  in  the  reflected  glory  of  whose  fame  Brampton  had 


458  CONISTON 

shone  for  thirty  years !  Whose  name  was  lauded  and 
whose  poem  was  recited  at  every  Fourth  of  July  celebra 
tion,  that  the  very  children  might  learn  it  and  honor  its  com 
poser  !  Stratford-on-Avon  is  not  prouder  of  Shakespeare 
than  Brampton  of  Miss  Lucretia,  and  now  she  was  come 
back,  unheralded,  to  her  birthplace.  Mr.  Raines,  the  clerk, 
looked  at  the  handwriting  on  the  book,  and  would  not  be 
lieve  his  own  sight  until  it  was  vouched  for  by  sundry 
citizens  who  had  followed  the  lady  from  the  station  —  on 
foot.  And  then  there  was  a  to-do. 

Send  for  Mr.  Gamaliel  Ives ;  send  for  Miss  Bruce,  the 
librarian ;  send  for  Mr.  Page,  editor  of  the  Clarion,  and 
notify  the  first  citizen.  He,  indeed,  could  not  be  sent  for, 
but  had  he  known  of  her  coming  he  would  undoubtedly 
have  had  her  met  at  the  portals  and  presented  with  the 
keys  in  gold.  Up  and  down  the  street  flew  the  news  whicli 
overshadowed  and  blotted  out  all  other,  and  the  poor  little 
school-teacher  was  forgotten. 

One  of  these  notables  was  at  hand,  though  he  did  not 
deserve  to  be.  Mr.  Gamaliel  Ives  sent  up  his  card  to  Miss 
Lucretia,  and  was  shown  deferentially  into  the  parlor,  where 
he  sat  mopping  his  brow  and  growing  hot  and  cold  by 
turns.  How  would  the  celebrity  treat  him  ?  The  celeb 
rity  herself  answered  the  question  by  entering  the  room 
in  such  stately  manner  as  he  had  expected,  to  the  rustle  of 
the  bombazine.  Whereupon  Mr.  Ives  bounced  out  of  his 
chair  and  bowed,  though  his  body  was  not  formed  to  bend 
that  way. 

"Miss  Penniman,"  he  exclaimed,  "what  an  honor  for 
Brampton  !  And  what  a  pleasure,  the  greater  because  so 
unexpected !  How  cruel  not  to  have  given  us  warning, 
and  we  could  have  greeted  you  as  your  great  fame  deserves ! 
You  could  never  take  time  from  your  great  duties  to  accept 
the  invitations  of  our  literary  committee,  alas  !  But  now 
that  you  are  here,  you  will  find  a  warm  welcome,  Miss 
Penniman.  How  long  it  has  been — thirty  years, — you 
see  I  know  it  to  a  day,  thirty  years  since  you  left  us. 
Thirty  years,  I  may  say,  we  have  kept  burning  the  vestal 
fire  in  your  worship,  hoping  for  this  hour." 


CONTAINING  A  DRAMATIC  CLIMAX          459 

Miss  Lucretia  may  have  had  her  own  ideas  about  the 
propriety  of  the  reference  to  the  vestal  fire. 

"  Gamaliel,"  she  said  sharply,  "  straighten  up  and  don't 
talk  nonsense  to  me.  I've  had  you  on  my  knee,  and  I  knew 
your  mother  and  father." 

Gamaliel  did  straighten  up,  as  though  Miss  Lucretia  had 
applied  a  lump  of  ice  to  the  small  of  his  back.  So  it  is 
when  the  literary  deities,  vestal  or  otherwise,  return  to 
their  Stratfords.  There  are  generally  surprises  in  store 
for  the  people  they  have  had  on  their  knees,  and  for  others. 

"  Gamaliel,"  said  Miss  Lucretia,  "  I  want  to  see  the 
prudential  committee  for  the  village  district." 

"  The  prudential  committee  ! "  Mr.  Ives  fairly  shrieked 
the  words  in  his  astonishment. 

"  I  tried  to  speak  plainly,"  said  Miss  Lucretia.  "  Who 
are  on  that  committee  ?  " 

"  Ezra  Graves,"  said  Mr.  Ives,  as  though  mechanically 
compelled,  for  his  head  was  spinning  round.  "  Ezra  Graves 
always  has  run  it,  until  now.  But  he's  in  the  town  hall." 

"  What's  he  doing  there  ?  " 

Mr.  Ives  was  no  fool.  Some  inkling  of  the  facts  began 
to  shoot  through  his  brain,  and  he  saw  his  chance. 

"  He  called  a  mass  meeting  to  protest  against  the  dis 
missal  of  a  teacher." 

"  Gamaliel,"  said  Miss  Lucretia,  "you  will  conduct  me 
to  that  meeting.  I  will  get  my  cloak." 

Mr.  Ives  wasted  no  time  in  the  interval,  and  he  fairly 
ran  out  into  the  office.  Miss  Lucretia  Penniman  was  in 
town,  and  would  attend  the  mass  meeting.  Now,  indeed, 
it  was  to  be  a  mass  meeting.  Away  flew  the  tidings, 
broadcast,  and  people  threw  off  their  carpet  slippers  and 
dressing  gowns,  and  some  who  had  gone  to  bed  got  up 
again.  Mr.  Dodd  heard  it,  and  changed  his  shoes  three 
times,  and  his  intentions  three  times  three.  Should  he  go, 
or  should  he  not  ?  Already  he  heard  in  imagination  the 
first  distant  note  of  the  populace,  and  he  was  not  of  the 
metal  to  defend  a  Bastille  or  a  Louvre  for  his  royal  master 
with  the  last  drop  of  his  blood. 

In  the  meantime  Gamaliel  Ives  was  conducting  Miss 


460  CONISTON 

Lucretia  toward  the  town  hall,  and  speaking  in  no  measured 
tones  of  indignation  of  the  cringing,  truckling  qualities  of 
that  very  Mr.  Dodd.  The  injustice  to  Miss  Wetherell, 
which  Mr.  Ives  explained  as  well  as  he  could,  made  his 
blood  boil:  so  he  declared. 

And  now  we  are  back  again  at  the  meeting,  when  the 
judge,  with  his  hand  on  his  Adam's  apple,  is  pronouncing 
the  word  "  gift."  Mr.  Ives  is  triumphantly  marching  down 
the  aisle,  escorting  the  celebrity  of  Brampton  to  the  plat 
form,  and  quite  aware  of  the  heart  burnings  of  his  fellow- 
citizens  on  the  benches.  And  Miss  Lucretia,  with  that 
stern  composure  with  which  celebrities  accept  public  situ 
ations,  follows  up  the  steps  as  of  right  and  takes  the  chair  he 
assigns  her  beside  the  chairman.  The  judge,  still  grasping 
his  Adam's  apple,  stares  at  the  newcomer  in  amazement, 
and  recognizes  her  in  spite  of  the  years,  and  trembles. 
Miss  Lucretia  Penniman !  Bliicher  was  not  more  welcome 
to  Wellington,  or  Lafayette  to  Washington,  than  was  Miss 
Lucretia  to  Ezra  Graves  as  he  turned  his  back  on  the  audi 
ence  and  bowed  to  her  deferentially.  Then  he  turned  again, 
cleared  his  throat  once  more  to  collect  his  senses,  and  was 
about  to  utter  the  familiar  words,  "  We  have  with  us  to 
night,"  when  they  were  taken  out  of  his  mouth  —  taken  out 
of  his  mouth  by  one  who  had  in  all  conscience  stolen 
enough  thunder  for  one  man,  —  Mr.  Gamaliel  Ives. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  said  Mr.  Ives,  taking  a  slight  dropping 
of  the  judge's  lower  jaw  for  recognition,  "  and  ladies  and 
gentlemen  of  Brampton.  It  is  our  great  good  fortune  to 
have  with  us  to-night,  most  unexpectedly,  one  of  whom 
Brampton  is,  and  for  many  years  has  been,  justly  proud." 
(Cheers.)  "  One  whose  career  Brampton  has  followed  with 
a  mother's  eyes  and  with  a  mother's  heart.  One  who  has 
chosen  a  broader  field  for  the  exercise  of  those  great  powers 
with  which  Nature  endowed  her  than  Brampton  could  give. 
One  who  has  taken  her  place  among  the  luminaries  of  lit 
erature  of  her  time."  (Cheers.)  "One  who  has  done 
more  than  any  other  woman  of  her  generation  toward  the 
uplifting  of  the  sex  which  she  honors."  (Cheers  and  clap 
ping  of  hands.)  "  And  one  who,  though  her  lot  has  fallen 


CONTAINING  A  DRAMATIC  CLIMAX          461 

among  the  great,  has  not  forgotten  the  home  of  her  child 
hood.  For  has  she  not  written  those  beautiful  lines  which 
we  all  know  by  heart  ? 

'  Ah,  Coniston !  Thy  lordly  form  I  see 
Before  mine  eyes  in  exile  drear.' 

"  Mr.  Chairman  and  fellow-townsmen  and  women,  I  have 
the  extreme  honor  of  introducing  to  you  one  whom  we  all 
love  and  revere,  the  author  of  the  '  Hymn  to  Coniston,'  the 
editor  of  the   Woman's  Hour,  Miss  Lucretia  Penniman. 
(Loud  and  long-continued  applause.) 

Well  might  Brampton  be  proud,  too,  of  Gamaliel  Ives, 
president  of  its  literary  club,  who  could  make  such  a  speech 
as  this  on  such  short  notice.  If  the  truth  be  told,  the 
literary  club  had  sent  Miss  Lucretia  no  less  than  seven 
invitations,  and  this  was  the  speech  Mr.  Ives  had  intended 
to  make  on  those  seven  occasions.  It  was  unquestionably  a 
neat  speech,  and  Judge  Graves  or  no  other  chairman  should 
cheat  him  out  of  making  it.  Mr.  Ives,  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand  toward  the  celebrity,  sat  down  by  no  means  dissatis 
fied  with  himself.  What  did  he  care  how  the  judge  glared. 
He  did  not  see  how  stiffly  Miss  Lucretia  sat  in  her  chair. 
She  could  not  take  him  on  her  knee  then,  but  she  would 
have  liked  to. 

Miss  Lucretia  rose,  and  stood  quite  as  stiffly  as  she  had 
sat,  and  the  judge  rose,  too.  He  was  very  angry,  but  this 
was  not  the  time  to  get  even  with  Mr.  Ives.  As  it  turned 
out,  he  did  not  need  to  bother  about  getting  even. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  in  the  absence  of  any 
other  chairman  I  take  pleasure  in  introducing  to  you  Miss 
Lucretia  Penniman." 

More  applause  was  started,  but  Miss  Lucretia  put  a  stop 
to  it  by  the  lifting  of  a  hand.  Then  there  was  a  breathless 
silence.  Then  she  cast  her  eyes  around  the  hall,  as  though 
daring  any  one  to  break  that  silence,  and  finally  they  rested 
upon  Mr.  Ives. 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  she  said,  with  an  inclination  toward 
the  judge,  "  my  friends  —  for  I  hope  you  will  be  my  friends 
when  I  have  finished  "  (Miss  Lucretia  made  it  quite  clear 


How  stiffly  Miss  Lucretia  sat  in  her  chair." 


462 


CONTAINING  A  DRAMATIC  CLIMAX          463 

by  her  tone  that  it  entirely  depended  upon  them  whether 
they  would  be  or  not),  "  I  understood  when  I  came  here 
that  this  was  to  be  a  mass  meeting  to  protest  against  an 
injustice,  and  not  a  feast  of  literature  and  oratory,  as 
Gamaliel  Ives  seems  to  suppose." 

She  paused,  and  when  the  first  shock  of  amazement  was 
past  an  audible  titter  ran  through  the  audience,  and  Mr. 
Ives  squirmed  visibly. 

"  Am  I  right,  Mr.  Chairman  ?  "  asked  Miss  Lucretia. 

"  You  are  unquestionably  right,  Miss  Penniman,"  an 
swered  the  chairman,  rising,  "unquestionably."  . 

"  Then  I  will  proceed,"  said  Miss  Lucretia.  "  I  wrote 
the  'Hymn  to  Coniston'  many  years  ago,  when  I  was 
younger,  and  yet  it  is  true  that  I  have  always  remembered 
Brampton  with  kindly  feelings.  The  friends  of  our  youth 
are  dear  to  us.  We  look  indulgently  upon  their  failings, 
even  as  they  do  on  ours.  I  have  scanned  the  faces  here 
in  the  hall  to-night,  and  there  are  some  that  have  not 
changed  beyond  recognition  in  thirty  years.  Ezra  Graves 
I  remember,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  see  him  in  that  chair." 
(Mr.  Graves  inclined  his  head,  reverently.  None  knew 
how  the  inner  man  exulted.)  "But  there  was  one  who 
was  often  in  Brampton  in  those  days,"  Miss  Lucretia  con 
tinued,  "  whom  we  all  loved  and  with  whom  we  found  no 
fault,  and  I  confess  that  when  I  have  thought  of  Brampton 
I  have  oftenest  thought  of  her.  Her  name,"  said  Miss 
Lucretia,  her  hand  now  in  the  reticule,  "her  name  was 
Cynthia  Ware." 

There  was  a  decided  stir  among  the  audience,  and 
many  leaned  forward  to  catch  every  word. 

"  Even  old  people  may  have  an  ideal,"  said  Miss  Lucretia, 
"  and  you  will  forgive  me  for  speaking  of  mine.  Where 
should  I  speak  of  it,  if  not  in  this  village,  among  those 
who  knew  her  and  among  their  children  ?  Cynthia  Ware, 
although  she  was  younger  than  I,  has  been  my  ideal,  and 
is  still.  She  was  the  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Samuel  Ware 
of  Coniston,  and  a  descendant  of  Captain  Timothy  Prescott, 
whom  General  Stark  called  '  Honest  Tim.'  She  was, 
to  me,  all  that  a  woman  should  be,  in  intellect,  in 


464  CONISTON 

her  scorn  of  all  that  is  ignoble  and  false,  and  in  her 
loyalty  to  her  friends."  Here  the  handkerchief  came 
out  of  the  reticule.  "  She  went  to  Boston  to  teach 
school,  and  some  time  afterward  I  was  offered'  a  position 
in  New  York,  and  I  never  saw  her  again.  But  she 
married  in  Boston  a  man  of  learning  and  literary  at 
tainments,  though  his  health  was  feeble  and  he  was 
poor,  William  Wetherell."  (Another  stir.)  "Mr.  Wether- 
ell  was  a  gentleman  —  Cynthia  Ware  could  have  married 
no  other  —  and  he  came  of  good  and  honorable  people  in 
Portsmouth.  Very  recently  I  read  a  collection  of  letters 
which  he  wrote  to  the  Newcastle  Gruardian,  which  some  of 
you  may  know.  I  did  not  trust  my  own  judgment  as  to 
those  letters,  but  I  took  them  to  an  author  whose  name  is 
known  wherever  English  is  spoken,  but  which  I  will  not 
mention.  And  the  author  expressed  it  as  his  opinion,  in 
writing  to  me,  that  William  Wetherell  was  undoubtedly  a 
genius  of  a  high  order,  and  that  he  would  have  been  so 
recognized  if  life  had  given  him  a  chance.  Mr.  Wetherell, 
after  his  wife  died,  was  taken  in  a  dying  condition  to  Con- 
iston,  where  he  was  forced,  in  order  to  earn  his  living, 
to  become  the  storekeeper  there.  But  he  took  his  books 
with  him,  and  found  time  to  write  the  letters  of  which  I 
have  spoken,  and  to  give  his  daughter  an  early  education 
such  as  few  girls  have. 

"  My  friends,  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  that  the  spirit  of  jus 
tice  and  the  sense  of  right  are  as  strong  in  Brampton  as 
they  used  to  be — strong  enough  to  fill  this  town  hall  to 
overflowing  because  a  teacher  has  been  wrongly  —  yes,  and 
iniquitously —  dismissed  from  the  lower  school."  (Here 
there  was  a  considerable  stir,  and  many  wondered  whether 
Miss  Lucretia  was  aware  of  the  irony  in  her  words.)  "  I 
say  wrongly  and  iniquitously,  because  I  have  had  the 
opportunity  in  Boston  this  winter  of  learning  to  know  and 
love  that  teacher.  I  am  not  given  to  exaggeration,  my 
friends,  and  when  I  tell  you  that  I  know  her,  that  her  char 
acter  is  as  high  and  pure  as  her  mother's,  I  can  say  no 
more.  I  am  here  to  tell  you  this  to-night  because  I  do  not 
believe  you  know  her  as  I  do.  During  the  seventy  years 


CONTAINING  A  DRAMATIC  CLIMAX          465 

I  have  lived  I  have  grown  to  have  but  little  faith  in  out 
ward  demonstration,  to  believe  in  deeds  and  attainments 
rather  than  expressions.  And  as  for  her  fitness  to  teach, 
I  believe  that  even  the  prudential  committee  could  find 
no  fault  with  that."  (I  wonder  whether  Mr.  Dodd  was  in 
the  back  of  the  hall.)  "I  can  find  no  fault  with  it.  I 
am  constantly  called  upon  to  recommend  teachers,  and  I 
tell  you  I  should  have  no  hesitation  in  sending  Cynthia 
Wetherell  to  a  high  school,  young  as  she  is. 

"  And  now,  my  friends,  why  was  she  dismissed?  I  have 
heard  the  facts,  though  not  from  her.  Cynthia  Wetherell 
does  not  know  that  I  have  come  to  Brampton,  unless  some 
body  has  told  her,  and  did  not  know  that  I  was  coming. 
I  have  heard  the  facts,  and  I  find  it  difficult  to  believe  that 
so  great  a  wrong  could  be  attempted  against  a  woman, 
and  if  the  name  of  Cynthia  Wetherell  had  meant  no  more 
to  me  than  the  letters  in  it  I  should  have  travelled  twice 
as  far  as  Brampton,  old  as  I  am,  to  do  my  utmost  to  right 
that  wrong.  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  that  I  have 
never  been  so  indignant  in  my  life.  I  do  not  come  here  to 
stir  up  enmities  among  you,  and  I  will  mention  no  more 
names.  I  prefer  to  believe  that  the  prudential  committee 
of  this  district  has  made  a  mistake,  the  gravity  of  which 
they  must  now  realize,  and  that  they  will  reinstate  Cynthia 
Wetherell  to-morrow.  And  if  they  should  not  of  their 
own  free  will,  I  have  only  to  look  around  this  meeting  to 
be  convinced  that  they  will  be  compelled  to.  Compelled 
to,  my  friends,  by  the  sense  of  justice  and  the  righteous 
indignation  of  the  citizens  of  Brampton." 

Miss  Lucretia  sat  down,  her  strong  face  alight  with  the 
spirit  that  was  in  her.  Not  the  least  of  the  compelling 
forces  in  this  world  is  righteous  anger,  and  when  it  is  exer 
cised  by  a  man  or  a  woman  whose  life  has  been  a  continual 
warfare  against  the  pests  of  wrong,  it  is  well-nigh  irresistible. 
While  you  could  count  five  seconds  the  audience  sat  silent, 
and  then  began  such  tumult  and  applause  as  had  never 
been  seen  in  Brampton  —  all  started,  so  it  is  said,  by  an 
old  soldier  in  the  front  row  with  his  stick.  Isaac  D.  Worth- 
iugton,  sitting  alone  in  the  library  of  his  mansion,  heard  it, 

2H 


466  CONISTON 

and  had  no  need  to  send  for  Mr.  Flint  to  ask  what  it  was, 
or  who  it  was  had  fired  the  Third  Estate.  And  Mr.  Dodd 
heard  it.  He  may  have  been  in  the  hall,  but  now  he  sat 
at  home,  seeing  visions  of  the  lantern,  and  he  would  have 
fled  to  the  palace  had  he  thought  to  get  any  sympathy 
from  his  sovereign.  No,  Mr.  Dodd  did  not  hold  the  Bas 
tille  or  even  fight  for  it.  Another  and  a  better  man  gave 
up  the  keys,  for  heroes  are  sometimes  hidden  away  in  meek 
and  retiring  people  who  wear  spectacles  and  have  a  stoop 
to  their  shoulders.  Long  before  the  excitement  died 
away  a  dozen  men  were  on  their  feet  shouting  at  the  chair 
man,  and  among  them  was  the  tall,  stooping  man  with 
spectacles.  He  did  not  shout,  but  Judge  Graves  saw  him 
and  made  up  his  mind  that  this  was  the  man  to  speak. 
The  chairman  raised  his  hand  and  rapped  with  his  gavel, 
and  at  length  he  had  obtained  silence. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  am  going  to 
recognize  Mr.  Hill  of  the  prudential  committee,  and  ask 
him  to  step  up  on  the  platform." 

There  fell  another  silence,  as  absolute  as  the  first,  when 
Mr.  Hill  walked  down  the  aisle  and  climbed  the  steps. 
Indeed,  people  were  stupefied,  for  the  feed  dealer  was  a 
man  who  had  never  opened  his  mouth  in  town-meeting ; 
who  had  never  taken  an  initiative  of  any  kind  ;  who  had 
allowed  other  men  to  take  advantage  of  him,  and  had 
never  resented  it.  And  now  he  was  going  to  speak. 
Would  he  defend  the  prudential  committee,  or  would  he 
declare  for  the  teacher  ?  Either  course,  in  Mr.  Hill's  case, 
required  courage,  and  he  had  never  been  credited  with 
any.  If  Mr.  Hill  was  going  to  speak  at  all,  he  was  going 
to  straddle. 

He  reached  the  platform,  bowed  irresolutely  to  the 
chairman,  and  then  stood  awkwardly  with  one  knee  bent, 
peering  at  his  audience  over  his  glasses.  He  began  with 
out  any  address  whatever. 

"  I  want  to  say,"  he  began  in  a  low  voice,  "  that  I  had 
no  intention  of  coming  to  this  meeting.  And  I  am  going 
to  confess  —  I  am  going  to  confess  that  I  was  afraid  to 
come."  He  raised  his  voice  a  little  defiantly  at  the  words, 


CONTAINING  A  DRAMATIC  CLIMAX          467 

and  paused.  One  could  almost  hear  the  people  breathing. 
"  I  was  afraid  to  come  for  fear  that  I  should  do  the  very 
thing  I  am  going  to  do  now.  And  yet  I  was  impelled  to 
come.  I  want  to  say  that  my  conscience  has  not  been 
clear  since,  as  a  member  of  the  prudential  committee, 
I  gave  my  consent  to  the  dismissal  of  Miss  Wetherell. 
I  know  that  I  was  influenced  by  personal  and  selfish  con 
siderations  which  should  have  had  no  weight.  And  after 
listening  to  Miss  Penniman  I  take  this  opportunity  to 
declare,  of  my  own  free  will,  that  I  will  add  my  vote  to 
that  of  Judge  Graves  to  reinstate  Miss  Wetherell." 

Mr.  Hill  bowed  slightly,  and  was  about  to  descend  the 
steps  when  the  chairman,  throwing  parliamentary  dignity 
to  the  winds,  arose  and  seized  the  feed  dealer's  hand.  And 
the  people  in  the  hall  almost  as  one  man  sprang  to  their 
feet  and  cheered,  and  some  —  Ephraim  Prescott  among 
these  —  even  waved  their  hats  and  shouted  Mr.  Hill's 
name.  A  New  England  audience  does  not  frequently  for 
get  itself,  but  there  were  few  present  who  did  not  under 
stand  the  heroism  of  the  man's  confession,  who  were  not 
carried  away  by  the  simple  and  dramatic  dignity  of  it.  He 
had  no  need  to  mention  Mr.  Worthington's  name,  or  specify 
the  nature  of  his  obligations  to  that  gentleman.  In  that 
hour  Jonathan  Hill  rose  high  in  the  respect  of  Brampton, 
and  some  pressed  into  the  aisle  to  congratulate  him  on  his 
way  back  to  his  seat.  Not  a  few  were  grateful  to  him  for 
another  reason.  He  had  relieved  the  meeting  of  the  ne 
cessity  of  taking  any  further  action  :  of  putting  their  names, 
for  instance,  in  their  enthusiasm  to  a  paper  which  the  first 
citizen  might  see. 

Judge  Graves,  whose  sense  of  a  climax  was  acute,  rapped 
for  order. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  not  wholly 
free  from  emotion,  "  you  will  all  wish  to  pay  your  respects 
to  the  famous  lady  who  is  with  us.  I  see  that  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Sweet  is  present,  and  I  suggest  that  we  adjourn,  after 
he  has  favored  us  with  a  prayer." 

As  the  minister  came  forward,  Deacon  Hartington 
dropped  his  head  and  began  to  flutter  his  eyelids.  The 


468  CONISTON 

Rev.  Mr.  Sweet  prayed,  and  so  was  brought  to  an  end 
the  most  exciting  meeting  ever  held  in  Brampton  town 
hall. 

But  Miss  Lucretia  did  not  like  being  called  "  a  famous 
lady." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MISS   LTJCKETIA   QUOTES   GENESIS 

WHILE  Miss  Lucretia  was  standing,  unwillingly  enough, 
listening  to  the  speeches  that  were  poured  into  her  ear  by 
various  members  of  the  audience,  receiving  the  incense  and 
myrrh  to  which  so  great  a  celebrity  was  entitled,  the  old 
soldier  hobbled  away  to  his  little  house  as  fast  as  his  three 
legs  would  carry  him.  Only  one  event  in  his  life  had  eclipsed 
this  in  happiness  —  the  interview  in  front  of  the  White 
House.  He  rapped  on  the  window  with  his  stick,  thereby 
frightening  Cynthia  half  out  of  her  wits  as  she  sat  musing 
sorrowfully  by  the  fire. 

"  Cousin  Ephraim,"  she  said,  taking  off  his  corded  hat, 
"  what  in  the  world's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  You're  a  schoolmarm  again,  Cynthy." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  —  ?  " 

"  Miss  Lucretia  Penniman  done  it." 

"  Miss  Lucretia  Penniman  ! "  Cynthia  began  to  think  his 
rheumatism  was  driving  him  out  of  his  mind. 

"  You  bet.  'Long  toward  the  openin'  of  the  engage 
ment  there  wahn't  scarcely  anybody  thar  but  me,  and  they 
was  a-goin'.  But  they  come  fast  enough  when  they  1'arned 
she  was  in  town,  and  she  blew  'em  up  higher'n  the  Peters 
burg  crater.  Great  Tecumseh,  there's  a  woman !  Next  to 
General  Grant,  I'd  sooner  shake  her  hand  than  anybody's 
livin'." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Miss  Lucretia  is  in  Brampton 
and  spoke  at  the  mass  meeting?  " 

"  Spoke  !  "  exclaimed  Ephraim,  "  callate  she  did  — some. 
Tore  'em  all  up.  They'd  a  hung  Isaac  D.  Worthington 
or  Levi  Dodd  if  they'd  a  had  'em  thar." 

469 


470  CONISTON 

Cynthia,  striving  to  be  calm  herself,  got  him  into  a  chair 
and  took  his  stick  and  straightened  out  his  leg,  and  then 
Ephraim  told  her  the  story,  and  it  lost  no  dramatic  effect  in 
his  telling.  He  would  have  talked  all  night.  But  at  length 
the  sound  of  wheels  was  heard  in  the  street,  Cynthia  flew 
to  the  door,  and  a  familiar  voice  came  out  of  the  darkness. 

"  You  need  not  wait,  Gamaliel.  No,  thank  you,  I  think 
I  will  stay  at  the  hotel." 

Gamaliel  was  still  protesting  when  Miss  Lucretia  came 
in  and  seized  Cynthia  in  her  arms,  and  the  door  was  closed 
behind  her. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Lucretia,  why  did  you  come  ?  "  said  Cynthia, 
"  if  I  had  known  you  would  do  such  a  thing,  I  should  never 
have  written  that  letter.  I  have  been  sorry  to-day  that  I 
did  write  it,  and  now  I'm  sorrier  than  ever." 

"  Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me  ?  "  demanded  Miss  Lucretia. 

"  Miss  Lucretia !  " 

"  What  are  friends  for  ?  "  asked  Miss  Lucretia,  patting 
her  hand.  "  If  you  had  known  how  I  wished  to  see  you, 
Cynthia,  and  I  thought  a  little  trip  would  be  good  for  such 
a  provincial  Bostonian  as  I  am.  Dear,  dear,  I  remember 
this  house.  It  used  to  belong  to  Gabriel  Post  in  my  time, 
and  right  across  from  it  was  the  Social  Library,  where  I 
have  spent  so  many  pleasant  hours  with  your  mother.  And 
this  is  Ephraim  Prescott.  I  thought  it  was,  when  I  saw 
him  sitting  in  the  front  row,  and  I  think  he  must  have  been 
very  lonesome  there  at  one  time." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Ephraim,  giving  her  his  gnarled 
fingers ;  "  I  was  just  sayin'  to  Cynthy  that  I'd  ruther  shake 
your  hand  than  anybody's  livin'  exceptin'  General  Grant." 

"  And  I'd  rather  shake  yours  than  the  General's,"  said 
Miss  Lucretia,  for  the  Woman's  Hour  had  taken  the  op 
position  side  in  a  certain  recent  public  question  concern 
ing  women. 

"If  you'd  a  fit  with  him,  you  wouldn't  say  that,  Miss 
Lucrety." 

"  I  haven't  a  word  to  say  against  his  fighting  qualities," 
she  replied. 

"  Guess  the  General  might  say  the  same  of  you,"  said 


MISS  LUCBETIA  QUOTES   GENESIS  471 

Ephraim.  "  If  you'd  a  b'en  a  man,  I  callate  you'd  a  come 
out  of  the  war  with  two  stars  on  your  shoulder.  Godfrey, 
Miss  Lucrety,  you'd  ought  to've  b'en  a  man." 

"  A  man ! "  cried  Miss  Lucretia,  "  and  '  stars  on  my 
shoulder ' !  I  think  this  kind  of  talk  has  gone  far  enough, 
Ephraim  Prescott." 

"  Cousin  Eph,"  said  Cynthia,  laughing, "  you're  no  match 
for  Miss  Lucretia,  and  it's  long  past  your  bedtime." 

"  A  man  ! "  repeated  Miss  Lucretia,  after  he  had  re 
tired,  and  after  Cynthia  had  tried  to  express  her  gratitude 
and  had  been  silenced.  They  sat  side  by  side  in  front  of 
the  chimney.  "  I  suppose  he  meant  that  as  a  compliment. 
I  never  yet  saw  the  man  I  couldn't  back  down,  and  I 
haven't  any  patience  with  a  woman  who  gives  in  to  them." 
Miss  Lucretia  poked  vigorously  a  log  which  had  fallen 
down,  as  though  that  were  a  man,  too,  and  she  was  put 
ting  him  back  in  his  proper  place. 

Cynthia,  strange  to  say,  did  not  reply  to  this  remark. 

"  Cynthia,"  said  Miss  Lucretia,  abruptly,  "  you  don't  mean 
to  say  that  you  are  in  love ! " 

Cynthia  drew  a  long  breath,  and  grew  as  red  as  the 
embers. 

"  Miss  Lucretia ! "  she  exclaimed,  in  astonishment  and 
dismay. 

"  Well,"  Miss  Lucretia  said, "  I  should  have  thought  you 
could  have  gotten  along,  for  a  while  at  least,  without  any 
thing  of  that  kind.  My  dear,"  she  said  leaning  toward 
Cynthia,  "  who  is  he  ?  " 

Cynthia  turned  away.  She  found  it  very  hard  to  speak 
of  her  troubles,  even  to  Miss  Lucretia,  and  she  would  have 
kept  this  secret  even  from  Jethro,  had  it  been  possible. 

"  You  must  let  him  know  his  place,"  said  Miss  Lucretia, 
"  and  I  hope  he  is  in  some  degree  worthy  of  you. " 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  marry  him,"  said  Cynthia,  with  her 
head  still  turned  away. 

It  was  now  Miss  Lucretia  who  was  silent. 

"  I  came  near  getting  married  once,"  she  said  presently, 
with  characteristic  abruptness. 

"  You !  "  cried  Cynthia,  looking  around  in  amazement. 


472  CONISTON 

"  You  see,  I  am  franker  than  you,  my  dear  —  though  I 
never  told  any  one  else.  I  believe  you  can  keep  a  secret." 

"  Of  course  I  can.  Who  —  was  it  any  one  in  Brampton, 
Miss  Lucretia  ?  "  The  question  was  out  before  Cynthia 
realized  its  import.  She  was  turning  the  tables  with  a 
vengeance. 

"  It  was  Ezra  Graves,"  said  Miss  Lucretia. 

"  Ezra  Graves ! "  And  then  Cynthia  pressed  Miss 
Lucretia's  hand  in  silence,  thinking  how  strange  it  was  that 
both  of  them  should  have  been  her  champions  that  even 
ing. 

Miss  Lucretia  poked  the  fire  again. 

"  It  was  shortly  after  that,  when  I  went  to  Boston,  that 
I  wrote  the  '  Hymn  to  Coniston.'  I  suppose  we  must  all 
be  fools  once  or  twice,  or  we  should  not  be  human." 

"And — weren't  you  ever  —  sorry?"  asked  Cynthia. 

Again  there  was  a  silence. 

"  I  could  not  have  done  the  work  I  have  had  to  do  in 
the  world  if  I  had  married.  But  I  have  often  wondered 
whether  that  work  was  worth  the  while.  Such  a  feeling 
must  come  over  all  workers,  occasionally.  Yes,"  said  Miss 
Lucretia,  "  there  have  been  times  when  I  have  been  sorry, 
my  dear,  though  I  have  never  confessed  it  to  another  soul. 
I  am  telling  you  this  for  your  own  good  —  not  mine.  If 
you  have  the  love  of  a  good  man,  Cynthia,  be  careful  what 
you  do  with  it." 

The  tears  had  come  into  Cynthia's  eyes. 

"I  should  have  told  you,  Miss  Lucretia,"  she  faltered. 
"  If  I  could  have  married  him,  it  would  have  been  easier." 

"  Why  can't  you  marry  him  ?  "  demanded  Miss  Lucretia, 
sharply  —  to  hide  her  own  emotion. 

"His  name,"  said  Cynthia,  "is  Bob  Worthington." 

"Isaac  Worthington's  son?" 

"Yes." 

Another  silence,  Miss  Lucretia  being  utterly  unable  to 
say  anything  for  a  space. 

"  Is  he  a  good  man  ?  " 

Cynthia  was  on  the  point  of  indignant  protest,  but  she 
stopped  herself  in  time. 


MISS  LUCKETIA  QUOTES  GENESIS  473 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  he  has  done,"  she  answered,  "  and 
then  you  shall  judge  for  yourself." 

And  she  told  Miss  Lucretia,  simply,  all  that  Bob  had 
done,  and  all  that  she  herself  had  done. 

"  He  is  like  his  mother,  Sarah  Hollingsworth ;  I  knew 
her  well,"  said  Miss  Lucretia.  "  If  Isaac  Worthington 
were  a  man,  he  would  be  down  on  his  knees  begging  you 
to  marry  his  son.  He  tried  hard  enough  to  marry  your 
own  mother." 

"  My  mother  ! "  exclaimed  Cynthia,  who  had  never  be 
lieved  that  rumor. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Lucretia,  "  and  you  may  thank  your 
stars  he  didn't  succeed.  I  mistrusted  him  when  he  was  a 
young  man,  and  now  I  know  that  he  hasn't  changed.  He 
is  a  coward  and  a  hypocrite." 

Cynthia  could  not  deny  this. 

"  And  yet,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  I  am 
sure  you  will  say  that  I  have  been  right.  My  own  con 
science  tells  me  that  it  is  wrong  to  deprive  Bob  of  his  in 
heritance,  and  to  separate  him  from  his  father,  whatever 
his  father  may  be." 

"  We  shall  see  what  happens  in  five  years,"  said  Miss 
Lucretia. 

"  Five  years !  "  said  Cynthia,  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  Jacob  served  seven  for  Rachel,"  answered  Miss  Lucretia ; 
"  that  period  is  scarcely  too  short  to  test  a  man,  and  you 
are  both  young." 

"  No,"  said  Cynthia,  "  I  cannot  marry  him,  Miss  Lu 
cretia.  The  world  would  accuse  me  of  design,  and  I  feel 
that  I  should  not  be  happy.  I  am  sure  that  he  would  never 
reproach  me,  even  if  things  went  wrong,  but  —  the  day 
might  come  when  —  when  he  would  wish  that  it  had  been 
otherwise." 

Miss  Lucretia  kissed  her. 

"  You  are  very  young,  my  dear,"  she  repeated,  "  and 
none  of  us  may  say  what  changes  time  may  bring  forth. 
And  now  I  must  go." 

Cynthia  insisted  upon  walking  with  her  friend  down  the 
street  to  the  hotel  —  an  undertaking  that  was  without 


474  CONISTOST 

danger  in  Brampton.  And  it  was  only  a  step,  after  all. 
A  late  moon  floated  in  the  sky,  throwing  in  relief  the 
shadow  of  the  Worthington  mansion  against  the  white 
patches  of  snow.  A  light  was  still  burning  in  the  library. 

The  next  morning  after  breakfast  Miss  Lucretia  appeared 
at  the  little  house,  and  informed  Cynthia  that  she  would 
walk  to  school  with  her. 

"  But  I  have  not  yet  been  notified  by  the  Committee," 
said  Cynthia.  There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  in  walked 
Judge  Ezra  Graves.  Miss  Lucretia  may  have  blushed,  but 
it  is  certain  that  Cynthia  did.  Never  had  she  seen  the 
judge  so  spick  and  span,  and  he  wore  the  broadcloth  coat 
he  usually  reserved  for  Sundays.  He  paused  at  the  thresh 
old,  with  his  hand  on  his  Adam's  apple. 

"Good  morning,  ladies,"  he  said,  and  looked  shyly  at 
Miss  Lucretia  and  cleared  his  throat,  and  spoke  with  the 
elaborate  decorum  he  used  on  occasions,  "  Miss  Penni- 
man,  I  wish  to  thank  you  again  for  your  noble  action  of 
last  evening." 

"  Don't  '  Miss  Penniman  '  me,  Ezra  Graves,"  retorted 
Miss  Lucretia;  "the  only  noble  action  I  know  of  was  poor 
Jonathan  Hill's  —  unless  it  was  paying  for  the  gas." 

This  was  the  way  in  which  Miss  Lucretia  treated  her 
lover  after  thirty  years !  Cynthia  thought  of  what  the 
lady  had  said  to  her  a  few  hours  since,  by  this  very  fire, 
and  began  to  believe  she  must  have  dreamed  it.  Fires  look 
very  differently  at  night  —  and  sometimes  burn  brighter 
then.  The  judge  parted  his  coat  tails,  and  seated  himself 
on  the  wooden  edge  of  a  cane-bottomed  chair. 

"  Lucretia,"  he  said,  "  you  haven't  changed." 

"  You  have,  Ezra,"  she  replied,  looking  at  the  Adam's 
apple. 

"  I'm  an  old  man,"  said  Ezra  Graves. 

Cynthia  could  not  help  thinking  that  he  was  a  very  dif 
ferent  man,  in  Miss  Lucretia's  presence,  than  when  at  the 
head  of  the  prudential  committee. 

"  Ezra,"  said  Miss  Lucretia,  "  for  a  man  you  do  very 
well." 

The  judge  smiled. 


MISS  LUCRETIA  QUOTES   GENESIS  475 

"  Thank  you,  Lucretia,"  said  he.  He  seemed  to  appreci 
ate  the  full  extent  of  the  compliment. 

"  Judge  Graves,"  said  Cynthia,  "  I  can  tell  you  how  good 
you  are,  at  least,  and  thank  you  for  your  great  kindness  to 
me,  which  I  shall  never  forget." 

She  took  his  withered  hands  from  his  knees  and  pressed 
them.  He  returned  the  pressure,  and  then  searched  his 
coat  tails,  found  a  handkerchief,  and  blew  his  nose  violently. 

"  I  merely  did  my  duty,  Miss  Wetherell,"  he  said.  "  I 
would  not  wilfully  submit  to  a  wrong." 

"  You  called  me  '  Cynthia'  yesterday." 

"So  I  did,"  he  answered,  "so  I  did."  Then  he  looked 
at  Miss  Lucretia. 

"  Ezra,"  said  that  lady,  smiling  a  little,  "  I  don't  believe 
you  have  changed,  after  all." 

What  she  meant  by  that  nobody  knows. 

"  I  had  thought,  Cynthia,"  said  the  judge,  "  that  it  might 
be  more  comfortable  for  you  to  have  me  go  to  the  school 
with  you.  That  is  the  reason  for  my  early  call." 

"Judge  Graves,  I  do  appreciate  your  kindness,"  said 
Cynthia ;  "  I  hope  you  won't  think  I'm  rude  if  I  say  I'd 
rather  go  alone." 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  dear,"  replied  the  judge,  "  I  think 
I  can  understand  and  esteem  your  feeling  in  the  matter, 
and  it  shall  be  as  you  wish." 

"Then  I  think  I  had  better  be  going,"  said  Cynthia. 
The  judge  rose  in  alarm  at  the  words,  but  she  put  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  "  Won't  you  sit  down  and  stay,"  she 
begged,  "you  haven't  seen  Miss  Lucretia  for  how  many 
years,  —  thirty,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Again  he  glanced  at  Miss  Lucretia,  uncertainly.  "  Sit 
down,  Ezra,"  she  commanded,  "  and  for  goodness'  sake 
don't  be  afraid  of  the  cane  bottom.  You  won't  go  through 
it.  I  should  like  to  talk  to  you,  and  most  of  the  gossips 
of  our  day  are  dead.  I  shall  stay  in  Brampton  to-day, 
Cynthia,  and  eat  supper  with  you  here  this  evening." 

Cynthia,  as  she  went  out  of  the  door,  wondered  what 
they  would  talk  about.  Then  she  turned  toward  the 
school.  It  was  not  the  March  wind  that  burned  her  cheeks ; 


476  CONISTON 

as  she  thought  of  the  mass  meeting  the  night  before,  which 
was  all  about  her,  she  wished  she  might  go  to  school  that 
morning  through  the  woods  and  pasture  lots  rather  than 
down  Brampton  Street.  What  —  what  would  Bob  say 
when  he  heard  of  the  meeting  ?  Would  he  come  again  to 
Brampton  ?  If  he  did,  she  would  run  away  to  Boston 
with  Miss  Lucretia.  Every  day  it  had  been  a  trial  to  pass 
the  Worthington  house,  but  she  could  not  cross  the  wide 
street  to  avoid  it.  She  hurried  a  little,  unconsciously, 
when  she  came  to  it,  for  there  was  Mr.  Worthington  on 
the  steps  talking  to  Mr.  Flint.  How  he  must  hate  her 
now,  Cynthia  reflected  !  He  did  not  so  much  as  look 
up  when  she  passed. 

The  other  citizens  whom  she  met  made  up  for  Mr. 
Worthington's  coldness,  and  gave  her  a  hearty  greeting, 
and  some  stopped  to  offer  their  congratulations.  Cynthia 
did  not  pause  to  philosophize :  she  was  learning  to  accept 
the  world  as  it  was,  and  hurried  swiftly  on  to  the  little 
schoolhouse.  The  children  saw  her  coming,  and  ran  to 
meet  her  and  escorted  her  triumphantly  in  at  the  door. 
Of  their  welcome  she  could  be  sure.  Thus  she  became 
again  teacher  of  the  lower  school. 

How  the  judge  and  Miss  Lucretia  got  along  that  morn 
ing,  Cynthia  never  knew.  Miss  Lucretia  spent  the  day  in 
her  old  home,  submitting  to  hero-worship,  and  attended  an 
evening  party  in  her  honor  at  Mr.  Gamaliel  Ives's  house  — 
a  mansion  not  so  large  as  the  first  citizen's,  though  it  had 
two  bay-windows  and  was  not  altogether  unimposing.  The 
first  citizen,  needless  to  say,  was  not  there,  but  the  rest  of 
the  elite  attended.  Mr.  Ives  will  tell  you  all  about  the 
entertainment  if  you  go  to  Brampton,  but  the  real  reason 
Miss  Lucretia  consented  to  go  was  to  please  Lucy  Baird, 
who  was  Gamaliel's  wife,  and  to  chat  with  certain  old 
friends  whom  she  had  not  seen.  The  next  morning  she 
called  at  the  school  to  bid  Cynthia  good-by,  and  to  whisper 
something  in  her  ear  which  made  her  very  red  before  all 
the  scholars.  She  shook  her  head  when  Miss  Lucretia 
said  it,  for  it  had  to  do  with  an  incident  in  the  29th  chapter 
of  Genesis. 


477 


478  CONISTON 

While  Jonathan  Hill  was  being  made  a  hero  of  in  the 
little  two-by-four  office  of  the  feed  store  the  morning  after 
the  mass  meeting  (though  nobody  offered  to  take  over  his 
mortgage),  Mr.  Dodd  was  complaining  to  his  wife  of 
shooting  pains,  and  "callated"  he  would  stay  at  home 
that  day. 

"Shootin'  fiddlesticks!"  said  Mrs.  Dodd.  "Get  along 
down  to  the  store  and  face  the  music,  Levi  Dodd.  You'd 
have  had  shootin'  pains  if  you'd  a  went  to  the  meetin'." 

"I  might  stop  by  at  Mr.  Worthington's  house  and 
explain  how  powerless  I  was  —  " 

"  For  goodness'  sake  git  out,  Levi.  I  guess  he  knows 
how  powerless  you  are  with  your  shootin'  pains.  If  you 
only  could  forget  Isaac  D.  Worthington  for  three  minutes, 
you  wouldn't  have  'em." 

Mr.  Dodd's  two  clerks  saw  him  enter  the  store  by  the 
back  door  and  he  was  very  much  interested  in  the  new 
ploughs  which  were  piled  up  in  crates  outside  of  it.  Then 
he  disappeared  into  his  office  and  shut  the  door,  and  sup 
posedly  became  very  much  absorbed  in  book-keeping.  It 
any  one  called,  he  was  out  —  any  one.  Plenty  of  people 
did  call,  but  he  was  not  disturbed  —  until  ten  o'clock. 
Mr.  Dodd  had  a  very  sensitive  ear,  and  he  could  often 
recognize  a  man  by  his  step,  and  this  man  he  recognized. 

"  Where's  Mr.  Dodd  ?  "  demanded  the  owner  of  the  step, 
indignantly. 

"He's  out,  Mr.  Worthington.  Anything  I  can  do  for 
you,  Mr.  Worthington?" 

"  You  can  tell  him  to  come  up  to  my  house  the  moment 
he  comes  in." 

Unfortunately  Mr.  Dodd  in  the  office  had  got  into  a 
strained  position.  He  found  it  necessary  to  move  a  little  ; 
the  day-book  fell  heavily  to  the  floor,  and  the  perspiration 
popped  out  all  over  his  forehead.  Come  out,  Levi  Dodd. 
The  Bastille  is  taken,  but  there  are  other  fortresses  still 
in  the  royal  hands  where  you  may  be  confined. 

"  Who's  in  the  office  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  answered  the  clerk,  winking  at  his 
companion,  who  was  sorting  nails. 


MISS  LUCKETIA  QUOTES   GENESIS          479 

In  three  strides  the  great  man  had  his  hand  on  the  office 
door  and  had  flung  it  open,  disclosing  the  culprit  cowering 
over  the  day-book  on  the  floor. 

"  Mr.  Dodd,"  cried  the  first  citizen,  "  what  do  you  mean 
by-?" 

Some  natures,  when  terrified,  are  struck  dumb.  Mr. 
)odd's  was  the  kind  which  bursts  into  speech. 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  Mr.  Worthington,"  he  cried,  "they 
would  have  it.  I  don't  know  what  got  into  'em.  They 
lost  their  senses,  Mr.  Worthington,  plumb  lost  their  senses. 
If  you'd  a  b'en  there,  you  might  have  brought  'ern  to.  I 
tried  to  git  the  floor,  but  Ezry  Graves  —  " 

"  Confound  Ezra  Graves,  and  wait  till  I  have  done,  can't 
you,"  interrupted  the  first  citizen,  angrily.  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  putting  a  bath-tub  into  my  house  with  the  tin 
loose,  so  that  I  cut  my  leg  on  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Dodd  nearly  fainted  from  sheer  relief. 

"  I'll  put  a  new  one  in  to-day,  right  now,"  he  gasped. 

"  See  that  you  do,"  said  the  first  citizen,  "  and  if  I  lose  my 
leg,  I'll  sue  you  for  a  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

"I  was  a-goin'  to  explain  about  them  losin'  their  heads 
at  the  mass  meetin'  —  " 

"Damn  their  heads!"  said  the  first  citizen.  "And 
yours,  too,"  he  may  have  added  under  his  breath  as  he 
stalked  out.  It  was  not  worth  a  swing  of  the  executioner's 
axe  in  these  times  of  war.  News  had  arrived  from  the 
state  capital  that  morning  of  which  Mr.  Dodd  knew 
nothing.  Certain  feudal  chiefs  from  the  North  Country, 
of  whose  allegiance  Mr.  Worthington  had  felt  sure,  had 
obeyed  the  summons  of  their  old  sovereign,  Jethro  Bass, 
and  had  come  South  to  hold  a  conclave  under  him  at  the 
Pelican.  Those  chiefs  of  the  North  Country,  with  their 
clans  behind  them  as  one  man,  what  a  power  they  were  in 
the  state !  What  magnificent  qualities  they  had,  in  battle 
or  strategy,  and  how  cunning  and  shrewd  was  their  general 
ship  !  Year  after  year  they  came  down  from  their  moun 
tains  and  fought  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  year  after  year 
they  carried  back  the  lion's  share  of  the  spoils  between 
them.  The  great  South,  as  a  whole,  was  powerless  to 


480  CONISTON 

resist  them,  for  there  could  be  no  lasting  alliance  between 
Harwich  and  Brampton  and  Newcastle  and  Gosport. 
Now  their  king  had  come  back,  and  the  North  Country  men 
were  rallying  again  to  his  standard.  No  wonder  that  Levi 
Dodd's  head,  poor  thing  that  it  was,  was  safe  for  a  while. 

"  Organize  what  you  have  left,  and  be  quick  about  it," 
said  Mr.  Flint,  when  the  news  had  come,  and  they  sat  in 
the  library  planning  a  new  campaign  in  the  face  of  this  evi 
dent  defection.  There  was  no  time  to  cry  over  spilt  milk 
or  reinstated  school-teachers.  The  messages  flew  far  and 
wide  to  the  manufacturing  towns  to  range  their  guilds  into 
line  for  the  railroads.  The  seneschal  wrote  the  messages, 
and  sent  the  summons  to  the  sleek  men  of  the  cities,  and 
let  it  be  known  that  the  coffers  were  full  and  not  too  tightly 
sealed,  that  the  faithful  should  not  lack  for  the  sinews  of 
war.  Mr.  Flint  found  time,  too,  to  write  some  carefully 
worded  but  nevertheless  convincing  articles  for  the  New 
castle  Guardian,  very  damaging  to  certain  commanders 
who  had  proved  unfaithful. 

"  Flint,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  when  they  had  worked 
far  into  the  night,  "if  Bass  beats  us,  I'm  a  crippled  man." 

"  And  if  you  postpone  the  fight  now  that  you  have  be 
gun  it?  What  then?" 

The  answer,  Mr.  Worthington  knew,  was  the  same  either 
way.  He  did  not  repeat  it.  He  went  to  his  bed,  but  not 
to  sleep  for  many  hours,  and  when  he  came  down  to  his 
breakfast  in  the  morning,  he  was  in  no  mood  to  read  the 
letter  from  Cambridge  which  Mrs.  Holden  had  put  on  his 
plate.  But  he  did  read  it,  with  what  anger  and  bitterness 
may  be  imagined.  There  was  the  ultimatum,  —  respectful, 
even  affectionate,  but  firm.  "  I  know  that  you  will,  in  all 
probability,  disinherit  me  as  you  say,  and  I  tell  you 
honestly  that  I  regret  the  necessity  of  quarrelling  with 
you  more  than  I  do  the  money.  I  do  not  pretend  to  say 
that  I  despise  money,  and  I  like  the  things  that  it  buys, 
but  the  woman  I  love  is  more  to  me  than  all  that  you 
have." 

Mr.  Worthington  laid  the  letter  down,  and  there  came 
irresistibly  to  his  mind  something  that  his  wife  had  said  to 


MISS  LUCRETIA  QUOTES   GENESIS   .        481 

him  before  she  died,  shortly  after  they  had  moved  into  the  man 
sion.  "  Dudley,  how  happy  we  used  to  be  together  before 
we  were  rich  !  "  Money  had  not  been  everything  to  Sarah 
Worthington,  either.  But  now  no  tender  wave  of  feeling 
swept  over  him  as  he  recalled  those  words.  He  was 
thinking  of  what  weapon  he  had  to  prevent  the  marriage 
beyond  that  which  was  now  useless  —  disinheritance.  He 
would  disinherit  Bob,  and  that  very  day.  He  would 
punish  his  son  to  the  utmost  of  his  power  for  marrying  the 
ward  of  Jethro  Bass.  He  wondered  bitterly,  in  case  a 
certain  event  occurred,  whether  he  would  have  much  to 
alienate. 

When  Mr.  Flint  arrived,  fresh  as  usual  in  spite  of  the 
work  he  had  accomplished  and  the  cigars  he  had  smoked 
the  night  before,  Mr.  Worthington  still  had  the  letter  in 
his  hand,  and  was  pacing  his  library  floor,  and  broke  into 
a  tirade  against  his  son. 

"  After  all  I  have  done  for  him,  building  up  for  him  a 
position  and  a  fortune  that  is  only  surpassed  by  young 
Duncan's,  to  treat  me  in  this  way,  to  drag  down  the  name 
of  Worthington  in  the  mire.  I'll  never  forgive  him.  I'll 
send  for  Dixon  and  leave  the  money  for  a  hospital  in 
Brampton.  Can't  you  suggest  any  way  out  of  this, 
Flint?" 

"  No,"  said  Flint,  "  not  now.  The  only  chance  you  have 
is  to  ignore  the  thing  from  now  on.  He  may  get  tired  of 
her  —  I've  known  such  things  to  happen." 

"  When  she  hears  that  I've  disinherited  him,  she  will  get 
tired  of  him,"  declared  Mr.  Worthington. 

"  Try  it  and  see,  if  you  like,"  said  Flint. 

"  Look  here,  Flint,  if  the  woman  has  a  spark  of  decent 
feeling,  as  you  seem  to  think,  I'll  send  for  her  and  tell  her 
that  she  will  ruin  Robert  if  she  marries  him."  Mr.  Worth 
ington  always  spoke  of  his  son  as  "Robert." 

"  You  ought  to  have  thought  of  that  before  the  mass 
meeting.  Perhaps  it  would  have  done  some  good  then." 

"  Because  this  Penniman  woman  has  stirred  people  up 
—  is  that  what  you  mean  ?      I  don't  care  anything  about 
that.     Money  counts  in  the  long  run." 
2i 


482  CONISTON 

"  If  money  counted  with  this  school-teacher,  it  would  be 
a  simple  matter.  I  think  you'll  find  it  doesn't." 

"  I've  known  you  to  make  some  serious  mistakes,"  snapped 
Mr.  Worthington. 

"  Then  why  do  you  ask  for  my  advice  ?  " 

"  I'll  send  for  her,  and  appeal  to  her  better  nature,"  said 
Mr.  Worthington,  with  an  unconscious  and  sublime  irony. 

Flint  gave  no  sign  that  he  heard.  Mr.  Worthington 
seated  himself  at  his  desk,  and  after  some  thought  wrote 
on  a  piece  of  note-paper  the  following  lines :  "  My  dear 
Miss  Wetherell,  I  should  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  would 
find  it  convenient  to  call  at  my  house  at  eight  o'clock  this 
evening,"  and  signed  them,  "  Sincerely  Yours."  He  sealed 
them  up  in  an  envelope  and  addressed  it  to  Miss  Wetherell, 
at  the  schoolhouse,  and  handed  it  to  Mr.  Flint.  That 
gentleman  got  as  far  as  the  door,  and  then  he  hesitated  and 
turned. 

"  There  is  just  one  way  out  of  this  for  you,  that  I  can 
see,  Mr.  Worthington,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  desperate  meas 
ure,  but  it's  worth  thinking  about." 

"What's  that?" 

It  took  some  courage,  even  for  Mr.  Flint,  to  make  the 
suggestion. 

"  The  girl's  a  good  girl,  well  educated,  and  by  no  means 
bad  looking.  Bob  might  do  a  thousand  times  worse. 
Give  your  consent  to  the  marriage,  and  Jethro  Bass  will  go 
back  to  Coniston." 

It  was  wisdom  such  as  few  lords  get  from  their  senes 
chals,  but  Isaac  D.  Worthington  did  not  so  recognize  it. 
His  anger  rose  and  took  away  his  breath  as  he  listened 
to  it. 

"I  will  never  give  my  consent  to  it,  never  —  do  you 
hear?  —  never.  Send  that  note  !  "  he  cried. 

Mr.  Flint  walked  out,  sent  the  note,  and  returned  and 
took  his  place  silently  at  his  own  table.  He  was  a 
man  of  concentration,  and  he  put  his  mind  on  the  argu 
ments  he  was  composing  to  certain  political  leaders.  Mr. 
Worthington  merely  pretended  to  work  as  he  waited  for 
the  answer  to  come  back.  And  presently,  when  it  did 


MISS  LUCKETIA  QUOTES   GENESIS  483 

come  back,  he  tore  it  open  and  read  it  with  an  expression 
not  often  on  his  lips.  He  flung  the  paper  at  Mr.  Flint. 

"  Read  that,"  he  said. 

This  is  what  Mr.  Flint  read :  "  Miss  Wetherell  begs  to 
inform  Mr.  Isaac  D.  Worthington  that  she  can  have  no 
communication  or  intercourse  with  him  whatsoever." 

Mr.  Flint  handed  it  back  without  a  word.  His  opinion 
of  the  school-teacher  had  risen  mightily,  but  he  did  not 
say  so.  Mr.  Worthington  took  the  note,  too,  without  a 
word.  Speech  was  beyond  him,  and  he  crushed  the  paper 
as  fiercely  as  he  would  have  liked  to  have  crushed  Cynthia, 
had  she  been  in  his  hands. 

One  accomplishment  which  Cynthia  had  learned  at  Miss 
Sadler's  school  was  to  write  a  letter  in  the  third  person, 
Miss  Sadler  holding  that  there  were  occasions  when  it  was 
beneath  a  lady's  dignity  to  write  a  direct  note.  And  Cyn 
thia,  sitting  at  her  little  desk  in  the  schoolhouse  during  her 
recess,  had  deemed  this  one  of  the  occasions.  She  could 
not  bring  herself  to  write,  "  My  dear  Mr.  Worthington." 
Her  anger,  when  the  note  had  been  handed  to  her,  was  for 
the  moment  so  great  that  she  could  not  go  on  with  her 
classes ;  but  she  had  controlled  it,  and  compelled  Silas  to 
stand  in  the  entry  until  recess,  when  she  sat  with  her  pen 
in  her  hand  until  that  happy  notion  of  the  third  person 
occurred  to  her.  And  after  Silas  had  gone  she  sat  still, 
though  trembling  a  little  at  intervals,  picturing  with  some 
satisfaction  Mr.  Worthington's  appearance  when  he  re 
ceived  her  answer.  Her  instinct  told  her  that  he  had 
received  his  son's  letter,  and  that  he  had  sent  for  her  to 
insult  her.  By  sending  for  her,  indeed,  he  had  insulted 
her  irrevocably,  and  that  is  why  she  trembled. 

Poor  Cynthia!  her  troubles  came  thick  and  fast  upon 
her  in  those  days.  When  she  reached  home,  there  was  the 
letter  which  Ephraim  had  left  on  the  table  addressed  in 
the  familiar,  upright  handwriting,  and  when  Cynthia  saw 
it,  she  caught  her  hand  sharply  at  her  breast,  as  if  the  pain 
there  had  stopped  the  beating  of  her  heart.  Well  it  was 
for  Bob's  peace  of  mind  that  he  could  not  see  her  as  she 
read  it,  and  before  she  had  come  to  the  end  there  were 


484  CONISTON 

drops  on  the  sheets  where  the  purple  ink  had  run.  How 
precious  would  have  been  those  drops  to  him !  He  would 
never  give  her  up.  No  mandate  or  decree  could  separate 
them  —  nothing  hut  death.  And  he  was  happier  now  — 
so  he  told  her  —  than  he  had  been  for  months :  happy  in 
the  thought  that  he  was  going  out  into  the  world  to  win 
bread  for  her,  as  became  a  man.  Even  if  he  had  not  her 
to  strive  for,  he  saw  now  that  such  was  the  only  course  for 
him.  He  could  not  conform. 

It  was  a  manly  letter,  —  how  manly  Bob  himself  never 
knew.  But  Cynthia  knew,  and  she  wept  over  it  and  even 
pressed  it  to  her  lips  —  for  there  was  no  one  to  see.  Yes, 
she  loved  him  as  she  would  not  have  believed  it  possible 
to  love,  and  she  sat  through  the  afternoon  reading  his 
words  and  repeating  them  until  it  seemed  that  he  were 
there  by  her  side,  speaking  them.  They  came,  untram 
melled  and  undefiled,  from  his  heart  into  hers. 

And  now  that  he  had  quarrelled  with  his  father  for  her 
sake,  and  was  bent  with  all  the  determination  of  his  char 
acter  upon  making  his  own  way  in  the  world,  what  was 
she  to  do?  What  was  her  duty?  Not  one  letter  of  the 
twoscore  she  had  received  (so  she  kept  their  count  from  day 
to  day)  —  not  one  had  she  answered.  His  faith  had  indeed 
been  great.  But  she  must  answer  this :  must  write,  too, 
on  that  subject  of  her  dismissal,  lest  it  should  be  wrongly 
told  him.  He  was  rash  in  his  anger,  and  fearless ;  this  she 
knew,  and  loved  him  for  such  qualities  as  he  had. 

She  must  stay  in  Brampton  and  do  her  work,  — so  much 
was  clearly  her  duty,  although  she  longed  to  flee  from  it. 
And  at  last  she  sat  down  and  wrote  to  him.  Some  things 
are  too  sacred  to  be  set  forth  on  a  printed  page,  and  this 
letter  is  one  of  those  things.  Try  as  she  would,  she  could 
not  find  it  in  her  heart  at  such  a  time  to  destroy  his 
hope,  —  or  her  own.  The  hope  which  she  would  not  ac 
knowledge,  and  the  love  which  she  strove  to  conceal  from 
him  seeped  up  between  the  words  of  her  letter  like 
water  through  grains  of  sand.  Words,  indeed,  are  but  as 
grains  of  sand  to  conceal  strong  feelings,  and  as  Cynthia 
read  the  letter  over  she  felt  that  every  line  betrayed  her, 


MISS  LUCRETIA  QUOTES  GENESIS  485 

and  knew  that  she  could  compose  no  lines  which  would 
not. 

She  said  nothing  of  the  summons  which  she  had  received 
that  morning,  or  of  her  answer ;  and  her  account  of  the 
matter  of  the  dismissal  and  reinstatement  was  brief  and 
dignified,  and  contained  no  mention  of  Mr.  Worthington's 
name  or  agency.  It  was  her  duty,  too,  to  rebuke  Bob  for 
the  quarrel  with  his  father,  to  point  out  the  folly  of  it,  and 
the  wrong,  and  to  urge  him  as  strongly  as  she  could  to 
retract,  though  she  felt  that  all  this  was  useless.  And 
then — then  came  the  betrayal  of  hope.  She  could  not 
ask  him  never  to  see  her  again,  but  she  did  beseech  him 
for  her  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  that  love  which  he  had 
declared,  not  to  attempt  to  see  her:  not  for  a  year,  she 
wrote,  though  the  word  looked  to  her  like  eternity.  Her 
reasons,  aside  from  her  own  scruples,  were  so  obvious, 
while  she  taught  in  Brampton,  that  she  felt  that  he  would 
consent  to  banishment  —  until  the  summer  holidays  in 
July,  at  least :  and  then  she  would  be  in  Coniston,  and  would 
have  had  time  to  decide  upon  future  steps.  A  reprieve 
was  all  she  craved,  —  a  reprieve  in  which  to  reflect,  for  she 
was  in  no  condition  to  reflect  now.  Of  one  thing  she  was 
sure,  that  it  would  not  be  right  at  this  time  to  encourage 
him  — although  she  had  a  guilty  feeling  that  the  letter  had 
given  him  encouragement  in  spite  of  all  the  prohibitions  it 
contained.  "  If,  in  the  future  years,"  thought  Cynthia,  as 
she  sealed  the  envelope,  "  he  persists  in  his  determination, 
what  then?"  You,  Miss  Lucretia,  of  all  people  in  the 
world,  have  planted  the  seeds  with  your  talk  about 
Genesis ! 

The  letter  was  signed  "  One  who  will  always  remain 
your  friend,  Cynthia  Wetherell."  And  she  posted  it 
herself. 

When  Ephraim  came  home  to  supper  that  evening,  he 
brought  the  Brampton  Clarion,  just  out,  and  in  it  was  an 
account  of  Miss  Lucretia  Penniman's  speech  at  the  mass 
meeting,  and  of  her  visit,  and  of  her  career.  It  was  writ 
ten  in  Mr.  Page's  best  vein,  and  so  laudatory  was  it  that 
we  shall  have  to  spare  Miss  Lucretia  in  not  repeating  it 


486  CONISTON 

here :  yes,  and  omit  the  encomiums,  too,  on  the  teacher  of 
the  Brampton  lower  school.  Mr.  Worthington  was  not 
mentioned,  and  for  this,  at  least,  Cynthia  drew  a  long 
breath  of  relief,  though  Ephraim  was  of  the  opinion  that 
the  first  citizen  should  have  been  scored  as  he  deserved, 
and  held  up  to  the  contempt  of  his  fellow-townsmen.  The 
dismissal  of  the  teacher,  indeed,  was  put  down  to  a  re 
grettable  misconception  on  the  part  of  "  one  of  the  pruden 
tial  committee,"  who  had  confessed  his  mistake  in  "  a 
manly  and  altogether  praiseworthy  speech."  The  article 
was  as  near  the  truth,  perhaps,  as  the  Clarions  may  come 
on  such  matters  —  which  is  not  very  near.  Cynthia  would 
have  been  better  pleased  if  Mr.  Page  had  spared  his  readers 
the  recital  of  her  qualities,  and  she  did  not  in  the  least 
recognize  the  paragon  whom  Miss  Lucretia  had  befriended 
and  defended.  She  was  thankful  that  Mr.  Page  did  not 
state  that  the  celebrity  had  come  up  from  Boston  on  her 
account.  Miss  Penniman  had  been  "  actuated  by  a  sudden 
desire  to  see  once  more  the  beauties  of  her  old  home,  to 
look  into  the  faces  of  the  old  friends  who  had  followed  her 
career  with  such  pardonable  pride."  The  speech  of  the 
president  of  the  literary  club,  you  may  be  sure,  was  printed 
in  full,  for  Mr.  Ives  himself  had  taken  the  trouble  to  write 
it  out  for  the  editor  —  by  request,  of  course. 

Cynthia  turned  over  the  sheet,  and  read  many  interest 
ing  items  :  one  concerning  the  beauty  and  fashion  and 
intellect  which  attended  the  party  at  Mr.  Gamaliel  Ives's ; 
in  the  Clovelly  notes  she  saw  that  Miss  Judy  Hatch,  of 
Coniston,  was  visiting  relatives  there ;  she  learned  the  out 
put  of  the  Worthington  Mills  for  the  past  week.  Cynthia 
was  about  to  fold  up  the  paper  and  send  it  to  Miss  Lucre 
tia,  whom  she  thought  it  would  amuse,  when  her  eyes  were 
arrested  by  the  sight  of  a  familiar  name. 

"  Jethro  Bass  come  to  life  again. 
From  the  State  Tribune" 

That  was  the  heading.  "  One  of  the  greatest  political 
surprises  in  many  years  was  the  arrival  in  the  capital  on 
Wednesday  of  Judge  Bass,  whom  it  was  thought  had 


MISS  LUCKETIA  QUOTES   GENESIS          487 

permanently  retired  from  politics.  This,  at  least,  seems  to 
have  been  the  confident  belief  of  a  faction  in  the  state  who 
have  at  heart  the  consolidation  of  certain  lines  of  railroads. 
Judge  Bass  was  found  by  a  Tribune  reporter  in  the  familiar 
'  Throne  Room '  at  the  Pelican,  but,  as  usual,  he  could  not 
be  induced  to  talk  for  publication.  He  was  in  conference 
throughout  the  afternoon  with  several  well-known  leaders 
from  the  North  Country.  The  return  of  Jethro  Bass  to 
activity  seriously  complicates  the  railroad  situation,  and 
many  prominent  politicians  are  freely  predicting  to-night 
that,  in  spite  of  the  town-meeting  returns,  the  proposed  bill 
for  consolidation  will  not  go  through.  Judge  Bass  is  a 
man  of  such  remarkable  personality  that  he  has  regained  at 
a  stroke  much  of  the  influence  that  he  lost  by  the  sudden 
and  unaccountable  retirement  which  electrified  the  state 
some  months  since.  His  reappearance,  the  news  of  which 
was  the  one  topic  in  all  political  centres  yesterday,  is 
equally  unaccountable.  It  is  hinted  that  some  action  on 
the  part  of  Isaac  D.  Worthington  has  brought  Jethro  Bass 
to  life.  They  are  known  to  be  bitter  enemies,  and  it  is  said 
that  Jethro  Bass  has  but  one  object  in  returning  to  the  field 
—  to  crush  the  president  of  the  Truro  Railroad.  Another 
theory  is  that  the  railroads  and  interests  opposed  to  the 
consolidation  have  induced  Judge  Bass  to  take  charge  of 
their  fight  for  them.  All  indications  point  to  the  fiercest 
struggle  the  state  has  ever  seen  in  June,  when  the  Legis 
lature  meets.  The  Tribune,  whose  sentiments  are  well 
known  to  be  opposed  to  the  iniquity  of  consolidation,  ex 
tends  a  hearty  welcome  to  the  judge.  No  state,  we  believe, 
can  claim  a  party  leader  of  a  higher  order  of  ability  than 
Jethro  Bass." 

Cynthia  dropped  the  paper  in  her  lap,  and  sat  very  still. 
This,  then,  was  what  happened  when  Jethro  had  heard  of 
her  dismissal  —  he  had  left  Coniston  without  writing  her  a 
word  and  passed  through  Brampton  without  seeing  her. 
He  had  gone  back  to  that  life  which  he  had  abandoned  for 
her  sake  ;  the  temptation  had  been  too  strong,  the  desire 
for  vengeance  too  great.  He  had  not  dared  to  see  her. 
And  yet  the  love  for  her  which  had  been  strong  enough  to 


488  CONISTON 

make  him  renounce  the  homage  of  men,  and  even  incur 
their  ridicule,  had  incited  him  to  this  very  act  of  ven 
geance. 

What  should  she  do  now,  indeed  ?  Had  those  peaceful 
and  happy  Saturdays  and  Sundays  in  Coniston  passed  away 
forever  ?  Should  she  follow  him  to  the  capital  and  appeal 
to  him?  Ah  no,  she  felt  that  were  a  useless  pain  to  them 
both.  She  believed,  now,  that  he  had  gone  away  from  her 
for  all  time,  that  the  veil  of  limitless  space  was  set  between 
them.  Silently  she  arose,  —  so  silently  that  Ephraim,  doz 
ing  by  the  fire,  did  not  awake.  She  went  into  her  own 
room  and  wept,  and  after  many  hours  fell  into  a  dreamless 
sleep  of  sheer  exhaustion. 

******* 

The  days  passed,  and  the  weeks ;  the  snow  ran  from  the 
brown  fields,  and  melted  at  length  even  in  the  moist  crotches 
under  the  hemlocks  of  the  northern  slopes ;  the  robin  and 
bluebird  came,  the  hillsides  were  mottled  with  exquisite 
shades  of  green,  and  the  scent  of  fruit  blossom  and  balm 
of  Gilead  was  in  the  air.  June  came  as  a  maiden  and  grew 
into  womanhood.  But  Jethro  Bass  did  not  return  to 
Coniston. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

WHEN    THE  PIE   WAS   OPENED 

THE  legends  which  surround  the  famous  war  which  we 
are  about  to  touch  upon  are  as  dim  as  those  of  Troy  or 
Tuscany.  Decorous  chronicles  and  biographies  and  mono 
graphs  and  eulogies  exist,  bound  in  leather  and  stamped 
in  gold,  each  lauding  its  own  hero:  chronicles  written  in 
really  beautiful  language,  and  high-minded  and  noble,  out 
of  which  the  heroes  come  unstained.  Horatius  holds  the 
bridge,  and  not  a  dent  in  his  armor;  and  swims  the  Tiber 
without  getting  wet  or  muddy.  Castor  and  Pollux  fight 
in  the  front  rank  at  Lake  Regillus,  in  the  midst  of  all  that 
gore  and  slaughter,  and  emerge  all  white  and  pure  at  the 
end  of  the  day  —  but  they  are  gods. 

Out  of  the  classic  wars  to  which  we  have  referred  sprang 
the  great  Roman  Republic  and  Empire,  and  legend  runs  into 
authentic  and  written  history.  Just  so,  parva  componere 
magnis,  out  of  the  cloud-wrapped  conflicts  of  the  five  rail 
roads  of  which  our  own  Gaul  is  composed,  emerged  one 
imperial  railroad,  authentically  and  legally  written  down 
on  the  statute  books,  for  all  men  to  see.  We  cannot  go 
behind  that  statute  except  to  collect  the  legends  and  write 
homilies  about  the  heroes  who  held  the  bridges. 

If  we  were  not  in  mortal  terror  of  the  imperial  power, 
and  a  little  fearful,  too,  of  tiring  our  readers,  we  would 
write  out  all  the  legends  we  have  collected  of  this  first 
fight  for  consolidation,  and  show  the  blood,  too. 

In  the  statute  books  of  a  certain  state  may  be  found  a 
number  of  laws  setting  forth  the  various  things  that  a 
railroad  or  railroads  may  do,  and  on  the  margin  of  these 
pages  is  invariably  printed  a  date,  that  being  the  particular 

489 


490  CONISTON 

year  in  which  these  laws  were  passed.  By  a  singular 
coincidence  it  is  the  very  year  at  which  we  have  now  ar 
rived  in  our  story.  We  do  not  intend  to  give  a  map  of 
the  state,  or  discuss  the  merits  or  demerits  of  the  consoli 
dation  of  the  Central  and  the  Northwestern  and  the  Truro 
railroads.  Such  discussions  are  not  the  province  of  a 
novelist,  and  may  all  be  found  in  the  files  of  the  Tribune 
at  the  State  Library.  There  were,  likewise,  decisions 
without  number  handed  down  by  the  various  courts  be 
fore  and  after  that  celebrated  session,  —  opinions  on  the 
validity  of  leases,  on  the  extension  of  railroads,  on 
the  rights  of  individual  stockholders  —  all  dry  reading 
enough. 

At  the  risk  of  being  picked  to  pieces  by  the  corporation 
lawyers  who  may  read  these  pages,  we  shall  attempt  to 
state  the  situation  and  with  all  modesty  and  impar 
tiality —  for  we,  at  least,  hold  no  brief.  When  Mr. 
Isaac  D.  Worthington  obtained  that  extension  of  the 
Truro  Railroad  (which  we  have  read  about  from  the 
somewhat  verdant  point  of  view  of  William  Wetherell), 
that  railroad  then  formed  a  connection  with  another 
road  which  ran  northward  from  Harwich  through  an 
other  state,  and  with  which  we  have  nothing  to  do. 
Having  previously  purchased  a  line  to  the  southward  from 
the  capital,  Mr.  Worthington's  railroad  was  in  a  position 
to  compete  with  Mr.  Duncan's  (the  "  Central  ")  for  Cana 
dian  traffic,  and  also  to  cut  into  the  profits  of  the  "  North 
western,"  Mr.  Lovejoy's  road.  In  brief,  the  Truro  Railroad 
found  itself  very  advantageously  placed,  as  Mr.  Worth 
ington  and  Mr.  Flint  had  foreseen.  There  followed  a 
period  of  bickering  and  recrimination,  of  attempts  of  the 
other  two  railroads  to  secure  representation  in  the  Truro 
directorate,  of  suits  and  injunctions  and  appeals  to  the 
Legislature  and  I  know  not  what  else  —  in  #11  of  which 
affairs  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby  and  other  gentlemen  we  could 
name  found  both  pleasure  and  remuneration. 

Oh,  that  those  halcyon  days  of  the  little  wars  would 
come  again,  when  a  captain  could  ride  out  almost  any 
time  at  the  head  of  his  band  of  mercenaries  and  see  hon- 


WHEN  THE  PIE  WAS  OPENED  491 

est  fighting  and  divide  honest  spoils  !  There  was  much 
knocking  about  of  men  and  horses,  but  very  little  blood 
shed,  so  we  are  told.  Mr.  Bixby  will  sit  on  the  sunny 
side  of  his  barns  in  Clovelly  and  tell  you  stories  of  that 
golden  period  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  when  he  went  to 
conventions  with  a  pocketful  of  proxies  from  the  river 
towns,  and  controlled  in  the  greatest  legislative  year  of  all 
a  "  block  "  which  included  the  President  of  the  Senate,  for 

which  he  got  the  fabulous  sum  of .     He  will  tell  you, 

but  I  won't.  Mr.  Bixby's  occupation  is  gone  now.  We 
have  changed  all  that,  and  we  are  ruled  from  imperial 
Rome.  If  you  don't  do  right,  they  cut  off  your  (political) 
head,  and  it  is  of  no  use  to  run  away,  because  there  is  no 
one  to  run  to. 

•  It  was  Isaac  D.  Worthington  —  or  shall  we  say  Mr. 
Flint  ?  —  who  was  responsible  for  this  pernicious  change 
for  the  worse,  who  conceived  the  notion  of  leasing  for  the 
Truro  the  Central  and  the  Northwestern, — thus  making 
one  railroad  out  of  the  three.  If  such  a  gigantic  under 
taking  could  be  got  through,  Mr.  Worthington  very 
rightly  deemed  that  the  other  railroads  of  the  state  would 
eventually  fall  like  ripe  fruit  into  their  caps  —  owning 
the  ground  under  the  tree,  as  they  would.  A  movement, 
which  we  need  not  go  into,  was  first  made  upon  the 
courts,  and  for  a  while  adverse  decisions  came  down  like 
summer  rain.  A  genius  by  the  name  of  Jethro  Bass  had 
for  many  years  presided  (in  the  room  of  the  governor 
and  council  at  the  State  House)  at  the  political  birth  of 
justices  of  the  Supreme  Court.  None  of  them  actually 
wore  livery,  but  we  have  seen  one  of  them  —  a  long  time 
ago  —  in  a  horse  blanket.  None  of  them  were  favorable 
to  the  plans  of  Mr.  Worthington  and  Mr.  Duncan. 

We  have  listened  to  the  firing  on  the  skirmish  lines  for 
a  long  time,  and  now  the  real  battle  is  at  hand.  It  is 
June,  and  the  Legislature  is  meeting,  and  Bijah  Bixby 
has  come  down  to  the  capital  at  the  head  of  his  regiment 
of  mercenaries,  of  which  Mr.  Sutton  is  the  honorary 
colonel ;  the  clans  are  here  from  the  north,  well  quartered 
and  well  fed  ;  the  Throne  Room,  within  the  sacred  pre- 


492  CONISTON 

cincts  of  which  we  have  been  before,  is  occupied.  But 
there  is  another  headquarters  now,  too,  in  the  Pelican 
House  —  a  Railroad  Room  ;  larger  than  the  Throne  Room, 
with  a  bath-room  leading  out  of  it.  Another  old  friend 
of  ours,  Judge  Abner  Parkinson  of  Harwich,  he  who  gave 
the  sardonic  laugh  when  Sam  Price  applied  for  the  post 
of  road  agent,  may  often  be  seen  in  that  Railroad  Room 
from  now  on.  The  fact  is  that  the  judge  is  about  to  be 
come  famous  far  beyond  the  confines  of  Harwich  ;  for  he, 
and  none  other,  is  the  author  of  the  Consolidation  Bill 
itself. 

Mr.  Flint  is  the  generalissimo  of  the  allied  railroads, 
and  sits  in  his  headquarters  early  and  late,  going  over  the 
details  of  the  campaign  with  his  lieutenants  ;  scanning 
the  clauses  of  the  bill  with  Judge  Parkinson  for  the  last 
time,  and  giving  orders  to  the  captains  of  mercenaries  as 
to  the  disposition  of  their  forces ;  writing  out  passes  for 
the  deserving  and  the  true.  For  these  latter,  also,  and 
for  the  wavering  there  is  a  claw-hammer  on  the  marble- 
topped  mantel  wielded  by  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby,  pro  tern  chief 
of  staff  —  or  of  the  hammer,  for  he  is  self-appointed  and 
very  useful.  He  opens  the  mysterious  packing  cases 
which  come  up  to  the  Railroad  Room  thrice  a  week,  and 
there  is  water  to  be  had  in  the  bath-room  —  and  glasses. 
Mr.  Bixby  also  finds  time  to  do  some  of  the  scouting  about 
the  rotunda  and  lobbies,  for  which  he  is  justly  celebrated, 
and  to  drill  his  regiment  every  day.  The  Honorable 
Heth  Sutton,  M.C.,  — who  held  the  bridge  in  the  Wood- 
chuck  Session,  —  is  there  also,  sitting  in  a  corner,  swelled 
with  importance,  smoking  big  Florizel  cigars  which  come 
from  —  somewhere.  There  are,  indeed,  many  great  and 
battle-scarred  veterans  who  congregate  in  that  room  —  too 
numerous  and  great  to  mention  ;  and  saunterers  in  the 
Capitol  Park  opposite  know  when  a  council  of  war  is  being 
held  by  the  volumes  of  smoke  which  pour  out  of  the  win 
dow,  just  as  the  Romans  are  made  cognizant  by  the  smok 
ing  of  a  chimney  of  when  another  notable  event  takes 
place. 

Who,  then,  are  left  to  frequent  the  Throne  Room  ?     Is 


WHEN  THE  PIE  WAS  OPENED  493 

that  ancient  seat  of  power  deserted,  and  does  Jethro  Bass 
sit  there  alone  behind  the  curtains,  in  his  bitterness,  think 
ing  of  other  bright  June  days  that  are  gone  ? 

Of  all  those  who  had  been  amazed  when  Jethro  Bass 
suddenly  emerged  from  his  retirement  and  appeared  in 
the  capital  some  months  before,  none  were  more  thunder 
struck  than  certain  gentlemen  who  had  been  to  Coniston 
repeatedly,  but  in  vain,  to  urge  him  to  make  this  very 
fight.  The  most  important  of  these  had  been  Mr.  Balch, 
president  of  the  "  Down  East "  Road,  and  the  representa 
tives  of  two  railroads  of  another  state.  They  had  at  last 
offered  Jethro  fabulous  sums  to  take  charge  of  their  armies 
in  the  field  —  sums,  at  least,  that  would  seem  fabulous  to 
many  people,  and  had  seemed  so  to  them.  When  they 
heard  that  the  lion  had  roused  and  shaken  himself  and 
had  unaccountably  come  forth  of  his  own  accord,  they 
hastened  to  the  state  capital  to  renew  their  offers. 
Another  shock,  but  of  a  different  kind,  was  in  store  for 
them.  Mr.  Balch  had  not  actually  driven  the  pack-mules, 
laden  with  treasure,  to  the  door  of  the  Pelican  House, 
where  Jethro  might  see  them  from  his  window  ;  but  he 
requested  a  private  audience,  and  it  was  probably  acci 
dental  that  the  end  of  his  personal  check-book  protruded 
a  little  from  his  pocket.  He  was  a  big,  coarse-grained 
man,  Mr.  Balch,  who  had  once  been  a  brakeman,  and  had 
risen  by  what  is  known  as  horse  sense  to  the  presidency 
of  his  road.  There  was  a  wonderful  sunset  beyond 
the  Capitol,  but  Mr.  Balch  did  not  talk  about  the  sun 
set,  although  Jethro  was  watching  it  from  behind  the 
curtains. 

"  If  you  are  willing  to  undertake  this  fight  against  con 
solidation,"  said  Mr.  Balch,  "  we  are  ready  to  talk  busi 
ness  with  you." 

"  D-don't  know  what  you're  going  to  do,"  answered 
Jethro  ;  "I'm  going  to  prevent  consolidation,  if  I  can." 

"  All  right,"  said  Balch,  smiling.  He  regarded  this 
reply  as  one  of  Jethro's  delicate  euphemisms.  "We're 
prepared  to  give  that  same  little  retainer." 

Jethro  did  not  look  up.     Mr.  Balch  went  to  the  table 


494  CONISTON 

and  seized  a  pen  and  filled  out  a  check  for  an  amount 
that  shall  be  nameless. 

"  I  have  made  it  payable  to  bearer,  as  usual,"  he  said, 
and  he  handed  it  to  Jethro. 

Jethro  took  it,  and  absently  tore  it  into  little  pieces, 
and  threw  the  pieces  on  the  floor.  Mr.  Balch  watched 
him  in  consternation.  He  began  to  think  the  report  that 
Jethro  had  reached  his  second  childhood  was  true. 

"  What  in  Halifax  are  you  doing,  Bass  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  W-want  to  stop  this  consolidation,  don't  you  —  want 
to  stop  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do." 

"  G-goin'  to  do  all  you  can  to  stop  it  —  hain't  you  ?  " 

"Certainly  I  am."' 

"  I-I'll  help  you,"  said  Jethro. 

"Help  us  !  "  exclaimed  Balch.  "Great  Scott,  we  want 
you  to  take  charge  of  it." 

"  I-I'll  do  all  I  can,  but  I  won't  guarantee  it  —  w-won't 
guarantee  it,"  said  Jethro. 

"  We  don't  ask  you  to  guarantee  it.  If  you'll  do  all 
you  can,  that's  enough.  You  won't  take  a  retainer  ?  " 

"  W-won't  take  anything,"  said  Jethro. 

"  You  mean  to  say  you  don't  want  anything  for  your  — 
for  your  time  and  your  services  if  the  bill  is  defeated  ?  " 

"  T-that's  about  it,  Ed.  Little  p-private  matter  with 
both  of  us.  You  don't  want  consolidation,  and  I  don't. 
I  hain't  offered  to  give  you  a  retainer  —  have  I  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  astounded  Mr.  Balch.  He  scratched 
his  head  and  fingered  the  leaves  of  his  check-book.  'The 
captains  over  the  tens  and  the  captains  over  the  hundreds 
would  want  little  retainers  —  and  who  was  to  pay  these  ? 
"How  about  the  boys?  "  asked  Mr.  Balch. 

"  S-still  got  the  same  office  in  the  depot  —  hain't  you, 
Ed,  — same  oflice  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  G-guess  the  boys  hev  b'en  there  before,"  said  Jethro. 

Mr.  Balch  went  away,  meditating  upon  those  sayings,  and 
took  the  train  for  Boston.  If  he  had  waked  up  of  a  fine 
morning  to  find  himself  at  the  head  of  some  benevolent 


WHEN  THE  PIE  WAS  OPENED  495 

and  charitable  organization,  instead  of  the  "  Down  East " 
Railroad,  he  could  not  have  been  more  astonished  than  he 
had  been  at  the  unaccountable  change  of  heart  of  Jethro 
Bass.  He  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it,  and  told  his 
colleagues  so  ;  and  at  first  they  feared  one  of  two  things, 
—  treachery  or  lunacy.  But  a  little  later  a  rumor  reached 
Mr.  Balch's  ears  that  Jethro's  hatred  of  Isaac  D.  Worth- 
ington  was  at  the  bottom  of  his  reappearance  in  public 
life,  although  Jethro  himself  never  mentioned  Mr.  Worth- 
ington's  name.  Jethro  sat  in  the  Throne  Room,  consult 
ing,  directing  day  after  day,  and  when  the  Legislature 
assembled,  "  the  boys  "  began  to  call  at  Mr.  Balch's  office. 
But  Mr.  Balch  never  again  broached  the  subject  of  money 
to  Jethro  Bass. 

We  have  to  sing  the  song  of  sixpence  for  the  last  time 
in  these  pages  ;  and  as  it  is  an  old  song  now,  there  will  be 
no  encores.  If  you  can  buy  one  member  of  the  lower  house 
for  ten  dollars,  how  many  members  can  you  buy  for  fifty  ? 
It  was  no  such  problem  in  primary  arithmetic  that  Mr. 
Balch  and  his  associates  had  to  solve  —  theirs  was  in 
higher  mathematics,  in  permutations  and  combinations, 
and  in  least  squares.  No  wonder  the  old  campaigners 
speak  with  tears  in  their  eyes  of  the  days  of  that  ever 
memorable  summer.  There  were  spoils  to  be  picked  up 
in  the  very  streets  richer  than  the  sack  of  the  thirty  cities  ; 
and  as  the  session  wore  on  it  is  affirmed  by  men  still 
living  that  money  rained  down  in  the  Capitol  Park  and 
elsewhere  like  manna  from  the  skies,  if  you  were  one 
of  a  chosen  band.  If  you  were,  all  you  had  to  do  was 
to  look  in  your  vest  pockets  when  you  took  your 
clothes  off  in  the  evening  and  extract  enough  legal 
tender  to  pay  your  bill  at  the  Pelican  for  a  week. 
Mr.  Lovejoy  having  been  overheard  one  day  to  make  a  re 
mark  concerning  the  diet  of  hogs,  the  next  morning  cer 
tain  visitors  to  the  capital  were  horrified  to  discover  trails 
of  corn  leading  from  the  Pelican  House  to  their  doorways. 
Men  who  had  never  seen  a  receiving  teller  opened  bank 
accounts.  No,  it  was  not  a  problem  in  simple  arithmetic, 
and  Mr.  Balch  and  Mr.  Flint,  and  even  Mr.  Duncan  and 


496  CONISTON 

Mr.  Worthington,  covered  whole  sheets  with  figures  dur 
ing  the  stifling  days  in  July.  Some  men  are  so  valuable 
that  they  can  be  bought  twice,  or  even  three  times,  and 
they  make  figuring  complicated. 

Jethro  Bass  did  no  calculating.  He  sat  behind  the  cur 
tains,  and  he  must  have  kept  the  figures  in  his  head. 

The  battle  had  closed  in  earnest,  and  for  twelve  long, 
sultry  weeks  it  raged  with  unabated  fierceness.  Consolida 
tion  had  a  terror  for  the  rural  mind,  and  the  state  Tribune 
skilfully  played  its  stream  upon  the  constituents  of  those 
gentlemen  who  stood  tamely  at  the  Worthington  hitching- 
posts,  and  the  constituents  flocked  to  the  capital  ;  that 
able  newspaper,  too,  found  space  to  return,  with  interest, 
the  attacks  of  Mr.  Worthington's  organ,  the  Newcastle 
Guardian.  These  amenities  are  much  too  personal  to  re 
produce  here,  now  that  the  smoke  of  battle  has  rolled 
away.  An  epic  could  be  written  upon  the  conflict,  if 
there  were  space  :  Canto  One,  the  first  position  carried 
triumphantly,  though  at  some  expense,  by  the  Worthing 
ton  forces,  who  elect  the  Speaker.  That  had  been  a  crucial 
time  before  the  town  meetings,  when  Jethro  abdicated. 
The  Worthington  Speaker  goes  ahead  with  his  committees, 
and  it  is  needless  to  say  that  Mr.  Chauncey  Weed  is  not 
made  Chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Corporations.  As 
an  offset  to  this,  the  Jethro  forces  gain  on  the  extreme 
right,  where  the  Honorable  Peleg  Hartington  is  made 
President  of  the  Senate,  etc. 

For  twelve  hot  weeks,  with  a  public  spirit  which  is 
worthy  of  the  highest  praise,  the  Committee  sit  in  their 
shirt  sleeves  all  day  long  and  listen  to  arguments  for 
and  against  consolidation ;  and  ask  learned  questions  that 
startle  rural  witnesses  ;  and  smoke  big  Florizel  cigars  (a 
majority  of  them).  Judge  Abner  Parkinson  defends  his 
bill,  quoting  from  the  Constitution  and  the  Declaration 
of  Independence  and  the  Bible  ;  a  celebrated  lawyer  from 
the  capital  riddles  it,  using  the  same  authorities,  and 
citing  the  Federalist  and  the  Golden  Rule  in  addition. 
The  Committee  sit  open-minded,  listening  with  laudable 
impartiality  ;  it  does  not  become  them  to  arrive  at  a 


WHEN  THE  PIE  WAS  OPENED  491 

hasty  decision  on  a  question  of  such  magnitude.  In  the 
meantime  the  House  passes  an  important  bill  dealing 
with  the  bounty  on  hedgehogs,  and  there  are  several  card 
games  going  on  in  the  cellar,  where  it  is  cool. 

The  governor  of  the  state  is  a  free  lance,  and  may  be 
seen  any  afternoon  walking  through  the  park,  consorting 
with  no  one.  He  may  be  recognized  even  at  a  distance 
by  his  portly  figure,  his  silk  hat,  and  his  dignified  mien. 
Yes,  it  is  an  old  and  valued  friend,  the  Honorable  Alva 
Hopkins,  patron  of  the  drama,  and  sometimes  he  has  a 
beautiful  young  woman  (still  unattached)  by  his  side. 
He  lives  in  a  suite  of  rooms  at  the  Pelican.  It  is  a  well- 
known  fact  (among  Mr.  Worthington's  supporters)  that 
the  Honorable  Alva  promised  in  January,  when  Mr.  Bass 
retired,  to  sign  the  Consolidation  Bill,  and  that  he  sud 
denly  became  open-minded  in  March,  and  has  remained 
open-minded  ever  since,  listening  gravely  to  arguments, 
and  giving  much  study  to  the  subject.  He  is  an  execu 
tive  now,  although  it  is  the  last  year  of  his  term,  and  of 
course  he  is  never  seen  either  in  the  Throne  Room  or  the 
Railroad  Room.  And  besides,  he  may  become  a  senator. 

August  has  come,  and  the  forces  are  spent  and  panting, 
and  neither  side  dares  to  risk  the  final  charge.  The 
reputation  of  Jethro  Bass  is  at  stake.  Should  he  risk 
and  lose,  he  must  go  back  to  Coniston  a  beaten  man, 
subject  to  the  contempt  of  his  neighbors  and  his  state. 
People  do  not  know  that  he  has  nothing  now  to  go  back 
to,  and  that  he  cares  nothing  for  contempt.  As  he  sits  in 
his  window  day  after  day  he  has  only  one  thought  and  one 
wish, — to  ruin  Isaac  D.  Worthington.  And  he  will  do  it 
if  he  can.  Those  who  know — and  among  them  is  Mr. 
Balch  himself  —  say  that  Jethro  has  never  conducted  a 
more  masterly  campaign  than  this,  and  that  all  the  others 
have  been  mere  childish  trials  of  strength  compared  to  it. 
So  he  sits  there  through  those  twelve  weeks  while  the 
session  slips  by,  while  his  opponents  grumble,  and  while 
even  his  supporters,  eager  for  the  charge,  complain.  The 
truth  is  that  in  all  the  years  of  his  activity  he  has  never 
had  such  an  antagonist  as  Mr.  Flint.  Victory  hangs 

2K 


498  CONISTOK 

in  the  balance,  and  a  false  move  will  throw  it  to  either 
side. 

Victory  hangs  now,  to  be  explicit,  upon  two  factors. 
The  first  and  most  immediate  of  these  is  a  certain  canny 
captain  of  many  wars  whose  regiment  is  still  at  the  dis 
posal  of  either  army  —  for  a  price,  a  regiment  which  has 
hitherto  remained  strictly  neutral.  And  what  a  regiment 
it  is!  A  block  of  river  towns  and  a  senator,  and  not  a 
casualty  since  they  marched  boldly  into  camp  twelve  weeks 
ago.  Mr.  Balch  is  getting  very  much  worried  about  this 
regiment,  and  beginning  to  doubt  Jethro's  judgment. 

"  I  tell  you,  Bass,"  he  said  one  evening,  "  if  you  allow 
him  to  run  around  loose  much  longer,  we're  lost,  that's  all 
there  is  to  it!  "  (Mr.  Balch  referred  to  the  captain  in 
question.)  "They'll  buy  up  his  block  at  his  figure  —  see 
if  they  don't.  They're  getting  desperate.  Don't  you 
think  I'd  better  bid  him  in  ?  " 

"  B-bid  him  in  if  you've  a  mind  to,  Ed." 

"  Look  here,  Jethro,"  said  Mr.  Balch,  savagely  biting 
off  the  end  of  a  cigar,  "  I'm  beginning  to  think  you  don't 
care  a  continental  about  this  business.  Which  side  are 
you  on,  anyway?"  The  heat  and  the  length  and  the 
uncertainty  of  the  struggle  were  telling  on  the  nerves  of 
the  railroad  president.  "  You  sit  there  from  morning  till 
night  and  won't  say  anything  ;  and  now,  when  there's 
only  one  block  out,  you  won't  give  the  word  to  buy  it." 

"  N-never  told  you  to  buy  anything,  did  I  —  Ed  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  Mr.  Balch,  "you  haven't.  I  don't 
know  what  the  devil's  got  into  you." 

"D-done  all  the  payin'  without  consultin'  me,  hain't 
you,  Ed?" 

"  Yes,  I  have.     What  are  you  driving  at  ?  " 

"  D-done  it  if  I  hadn't  b'en  here,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  more  too,"  said  Mr.  Balch. 

"  W- wouldn't  make  much  difference  to  you  if  I  wasn't 
here  —  would  it  ?  " 

"  Great  Scott,  Jethro,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  the 
railroad  president,  in  genuine  alarm ;  "  you're  not  going 
to  pull  out,  are  you  ?  " 


WHEN  THE  PIE  WAS  OPENED  499 

"W-wouldn't  make  much  odds  if  I  did  —  would  it, 
Ed?" 

"The  devil  it  wouldn't!  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Balch.  "  If  you 
pulled  out,  we'd  lose  the  North  Country,  and  Peleg,  and 
Gosport,  and  nobody  can  tell  which  way  Alva  Hopkins 
will  swing.  I  guess  you  know  what  he'll  do  —  you're  so 
d — d  secretive  I  can't  tell  whether  you  do  or  not.  If 
you  pulled  out,  they'd  have  their  bill  on  Friday." 

"  H-hain't  under  any  obligations  to  you,  Ed  — .  am  I  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Balch,  "  but  I  don't  see  why  you  keep 
harping  on  that." 

"J-just  wanted  to  have  it  clear,"  said  Jethro,  and 
relapsed  into  silence. 

There  was  a  fireproof  carpet  on  the  Throne  Room,  and 
Mr.  Balch  flung  down  his  cigar  and  stamped  on  it  and 
went  out.  No  wonder  he  could  not  understand  Jethro's 
sudden  scruples  about  money  and  obligations  —  about  rail 
road  money,  that  is.  Jethro  was  spending  some  of  his 
own,  but  not  in  the  capital,  and  in  a  manner  which  was 
most  effective.  In  short,  at  the  very  moment  when  Mr. 
Balch  stamped  on  his  cigar,  Jethro  had  the  victory  in  his 
hands  —  only  he  did  not  choose  to  say  so.  He  had  had  a 
mysterious  telegram  that  day  from  Harwich,  signed  by 
Chauncey  Weed,  and  Mr.  Weed  himself  appeared  at  the 
door  of  Number  7,  fresh  from  his  travels,  shortly  after 
Mr.  Balch  had  gone  out  of  it.  Mr.  Weed  closed  the  door 
gently,  and  locked  it,  and  sat  down  in  a  rocking  chair 
close  to  Jethro  and  put  his  hand  over  his  mouth.  We 
cannot  hear  what  Mr.  Weed  is  saying.  All  is  mystery 
here,  and  in  order  to  preserve  that  mystery  we  shall  delay 
for  a  little  the  few  words  which  will  explain  Mr.  Weed's 
successful  mission. 

Mr.  Balch,  angry  and  bewildered,  descended  into  the 
rotunda,  where  he  shortly  heard  two  astounding  pieces  of 
news.  The  first  was  that  the  Honorable  Heth  Sutton  had 
abandoned  the  Florizel  cigars  and  had  gone  home  to 
Clovelly.  The  second,  that  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby  had  resigned 
the  claw-hammer  and  had  ceased  to  open  the  packing 
cases  in  the  Railroad  Room.  Consternation  reigned  in 


500  CONISTON 

that  room,  so  it  was  said  (and  this  was  true).  Mr.  Worth- 
ington  and  Mr.  Duncan  and  Mr.  Lovejoy  were  closeted 
there  with  Mr.  Flint,  and  the  door  was  locked  and  the 
transom  shut,  and  smoke  was  coming  out  of  the  windows. 

Yes,  Mr.  Bijah  Bixby  is  the  canny  captain  of  whom  Mr. 
Balch  spoke  :  he  it  is  who  owns  that  block  of  river  towns, 
intact,  and  the  one  senator.  Impossible  !  We  have  seen 
him  opening  the  packing  cases,  we  have  seen  him  working 
for  the  Worthington  faction  for  the  last  two  years.  Mr. 
Bixby  was  very  willing  to  open  boxes,  and  to  make  him 
self  useful  and  agreeable;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that 
a  good  captain  of  mercenaries  owes  a  sacred  duty  to  his 
followers.  At  first  Mr.  Flint  had  thought  he  could  count 
on  Mr.  Bixby  ;  after  a  while  he  made  several  unsuccessful 
attempts  to  talk  business  with  him ;  a  particularly  diffi 
cult  thing  to  do,  even  for  Mr.  Flint,  when  Mr.  Bixby  did 
not  wish  to  talk  business.  Mr.  Balch  had  found  it  quite 
as  difficult  to  entice  Mr.  Bixby  away  from  the  boxes 
and  the  Railroad  Room.  The  weeks  drifted  on,  until 
twelve  went  by,  and  then  Mr.  Bixby  found  himself,  with 
his  block  of  river  towns  and  one  senator,  in  the  incompa 
rable  position  of  being  the  arbiter  of  the  fate  of  the  Con 
solidation  Bill  in  the  House  and  Senate.  No  wonder  Mr. 
Balch  wanted  to  buy  the  services  of  that  famous  regiment 
at  any  price ! 

But  Mr.  Bixby,  for  once  in  his  life,  had  waited  too 
long. 

When  Mr.  Balch,  rejoicing,  but  not  a  little  indignant 
at  not  having  been  taken  into  confidence,  ascended  to  the 
Throne  Room  after  supper  to  question  Jethro  concerning 
the  meaning  of  the  things  he  had  heard,  he  found  Senator 
Peleg  Hartington  seated  mournfully  on  the  bed,  talking 
at  intervals,  and  Jethro  listening. 

"  Come  up  and  eat  out  of  my  hand,"  said  the  senator. 

"  Who  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Balch. 

"  Bije,"  answered  the  senator. 

"  Great  Scott,  do  you  mean  to  say  you've  got  Bixby  ?  " 
exclaimed  the  railroad  president.  He  felt  as  if  he  would 
like  to  shake  the  senator,  who  was  so  deliberate  and 
mournful  in  his  answers.  "  What  did  you  pay  him  ?  " 


WHEN  THE  PIE  WAS  OPENED  501 

Mr.  Hartington  appeared  shocked  by  the  question. 

"  Guess  Heth  Sutton  will  settle  with  him,"  he  said. 

"  Heth  Sutton !  Why  the  —  why  should  Heth  pay 
him  ?  " 

"  Guess  Heth'd  like  to  make  him  a  little  present,  under 
the  circumstances.  I  was  goin'  through  the  barber  shop," 
Mr.  Hartington  continued,  speaking  to  Jethro  and  ignor 
ing  the  railroad  president,  "  and  I  heard  somebody  whis- 
perin'  my  name.  Sound  came  out  of  that  little  shampoo 
closet;  went  in  there  and  found  Bije.  ' Peleg,' says  he,  right 
into  my  ear,  '  tell  Jethro  it's  all  right  —  you  understand. 
We  want  Heth  to  go  back  —  break  his  heart  if  he  didn't 
—  you  understand.  If  I'd  knowed  last  winter  Jethro 
meant  business,  I  wouldn't  hev'  helped  Gus  Flint  out. 
Tell  Jethro  he  can  have  'em — you  know  what  I  mean.' 
Bije  waited  a  little  mite  too  long,"  said  the  senator,  who 
had  given  a  very  fair  imitation  of  Mr.  Bixby's  nasal  voice 
and  manner. 

"  Well,  I'm  d — d  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Balch,  staring  at 
Jethro.  "  How  did  you  work  it  ?  " 

"Sent  Chauncey  through  the  deestrict,"  said  Mr. 
Hartington. 

Mr.  Chauncey  Weed  had,  in  truth,  gone  through  a 
part  of  the  congressional  district  of  the  Honorable  Heth 
Sutton  with  a  little  leather  bag.  Mr.  Weed  had  been 
able  to  do  some  of  his  work  (with  the  little  leather  bag) 
in  the  capital  itself.  In  this  way  Mr.  Bixby's  regiment, 
of  which  Mr.  Sutton  was  the  honorary  colonel,  had  been 
attacked  in  the  rear  and  routed.  There  was  to  be  a  con 
gressional  convention  that  autumn,  and  a  large  part  of 
Mr.  Sutton's  district  lay  in  the  North  Country,  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  was  loyal  to  Jethro  to  the  back  bone.  The 
district,  too,  was  largely  rural,  and  therefore  anti-consoli 
dation,  and  the  inability  of  the  Worthington  forces  to  get 
their  bill  through  had  made  it  apparent  that  Jethro  Bass 
was  as  powerful  as  ever.  Under  these  circumstances  it 
had  not  been  very  difficult  for  a  gentleman  of  Mr.  Chaun 
cey  Weed's  powers  of  persuasion  to  induce  various  lieu 
tenants  in  the  district  to  agree  to  send  delegates  to  the 


502  CONISTON 

coming  convention  who  would  be  conscientiously  opposed 
to  Mr.  Sutton's  renomination :  hence  the  departure  from 
the  capital  of  Mr.  Sutton;  hence  the  generous  offer  of 
Mr.  Bixby  to  put  his  regiment  at  the  disposal  of  Mr.  Bass 
—  free  of  charge. 

The  second  factor  on  which  victory  hung  (we  can  use 
the  past  tense  now)  was  none  other  than  his  Excellency 
Alva  Hopkins,  governor  of  the  state.  The  bill  would  never 
get  to  his  Excellency  now  —  so  people  said  ;  would  never 
get  beyond  that  committee  who  had  listened  so  patiently 
to  the  twelve  weeks  of  argument.  These  were  only 
rumors,  after  all,  for  the  rotunda  never  knows  positively 
what  goes  on  in  high  circles  ;  but  the  rotunda  does 
figuring,  too,  when  at  length  the  problem  is  reduced  to 
a  simple  equation,  with  Bijah  Bixby  as  x.  If  it  were 
true  that  Bijah  had  gone  over  to  Jethro  Bass,  the  Con 
solidation  Bill  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  BIOGRAPHICAL  EPISODE:   HITHERTO   UNPUBLISHED 

WHEN  Jethro  Bass  walked  out  of  the  hotel  that  evening 
men  looked  at  him,  and  made  way  for  him,  but  none  spoke 
to  him.  There  was  something  in  his  face  that  forbade 
speech.  He  was  a  great  man  once  more  —  a  greater  man 
than  ever ;  and  he  had,  if  the  persistent  rumors  were  true, 
accomplished  an  almost  incomprehensible  feat,  even  for 
Jethro  Bass.  There  was  another  reason,  too,  why  they 
stared  at  him.  In  all  those  twelve  weeks  of  that  most 
trying  of  all  sessions  he  had  not  once  gone  into  the  street, 
and  he  had  been  less  than  ever  common  in  the  eyes  of  men. 
Twice  a  day  he  had  descended  to  the  dining  room  for  a 
simple  meal  —  that  was  all ;  and  fewer  had  gained  entrance 
to  Room  Number  7  this  session  than  ever  before. 

There  is  a  river  that  flows  by  the  capital,  a  wide  and 
gentle  river  bordered  by  green  meadows  and  fringed  with 
willows ;  higher  up,  if  you  go  far  enough,  a  forest  comes 
down  to  the  water  on  the  western  side.  Jethro  walked 
through  the  hooded  bridge,  and  up  the  eastern  bank  until 
he  could  see  the  forest  like  a  black  band  between  the 
orange  sky  and  the  orange  river,  and  there  he  sat  down 
upon  a  fallen  log  on  the  edge  of  the  bank.  But  Jethro  was 
thinking  of  another  scene,  —  of  a  granite-ribbed  pasture  on 
Coniston  Mountain  that  swings  in  limitless  space,  from 
either  end  of  which  a  man  may  step  off  into  eternity. 
William  Wetherell,  in  one  of  his  letters,  had  described 
that  place  as  the  Threshold  of  the  Nameless  Worlds,  and  so 
it  had  seemed  to  Jethro  in  the  years  of  his  desolation.  He 
was  thinking  of  it  now,  even  as  it  had  been  in  his  mind 
that  winter's  evening  when  Cynthia  had  come  to  Coniston 

503 


504  CONISTON 

and  had  surprised  him  with  that  look  of  terrible  loneliness 
on  his  face. 

Yes,  and  he  was  thinking  of  Cynthia.  When,  indeed, 
had  he  not  been  thinking  of  her  ?  How  many  times  had 
he  rehearsed  the  events  in  the  tannery  house  —  for  they 
were  the  events  of  his  life  now.  The  triumphs  over  his 
opponents  and  enemies  fell  away,  and  the  pride  of  power. 
Such  had  not  been  his  achievements.  She  had  loved  him, 
and  no  man  had  reached  a  higher  pinnacle  than  that. 

Why  he  had  forfeited  that  love  for  vengeance,  he  could 
not  tell.  The  embers  of  a  man's  passions  will  suddenly 
burst  into  flame,  and  he  will  fiddle  madly  while  the  fire 
burns  his  soul.  He  had  avenged  her  as  well  as  himself  ; 
but  had  he  avenged  her,  now  that  he  held  Isaac  Worth- 
ington  in  his  power?  By  crushing  him,  had  he  not  added 
to  her  trouble  and  her  sorrow?  She  had  confessed  that 
she  loved  Isaac  Worthington's  son,  and  was  not  he  (Jethro) 
widening  the  breach  between  Cynthia  and  the  son  by 
crushing  the  father?  Jethro  had  not  thought  of  this. 
But  he  had  thought  of  her,  night  and  day,  as  he  had  sat 
in  his  room  directing  the  battle.  Not  a  day  had  passed 
that  he  had  not  looked  for  a  letter,  hoping  against  hope. 
If  she  had  written  to  him  once,  if  she  had  come  to  him 
once,  would  he  have  desisted  ?  He  could  not  say  —  the 
fires  of  hatred  had  burned  so  fiercely,  and  still  burned  so 
fiercely,  that  he  clenched  his  fists  when  it  came  over  him 
that  Isaac  Worthington  was  at  last  in  his  power. 

A  white  line  above  the  forest  was  all  that  remained  of 
the  sunset  when  he  rose  up  and  took  from  his  coat  a  silver 
locket  and  opened  it  and  held  it  to  the  fading  light. 
Presently  he  closed  it  again,  and  walked  slowly  along  the 
river  bank  toward  the  little  city  twinkling  on  its  hill. 
He  crossed  the  hooded  bridge  and  climbed  the  slope,  stop 
ping  for  a  moment  at  a  little  stationery  shop ;  he  passed 
through  the  groups  which  were  still  loudly  discussing  this 
thing  he  had  done,  and  gained  his  room  and  locked  the 
door.  Men  came  to  it  and  knocked  and  got  no  answer. 
The  room  was  in  darkness,  and  the  night  breeze  stirred 
among  the  trees  in  the  park  and  blew  in  at  the  window. 


A  BIOGBAPHICAL  EPISODE  505 

At  last  Jethro  got  up  and  lighted  the  gas  and  paused  at 
the  centre  table.  He  was  to  violate  more  than  one  prin 
ciple  of  his  life  that  night,  though  not  without  a  struggle ; 
and  he  sat  for  a  long  while  looking  at  the  blank  paper  be 
fore  him.  Then  he  wrote,  and  sealed  the  letter  —  which 
contained  three  lines  —  and  pulled  the  bell  cord.  The 
call  was  answered  by  a  messenger  who  had  been  for  many 
years  in  the  service  of  the  Pelican  House,  and  who  knew 
many  secrets  of  the  gods.  The  man  actually  grew  pale 
when  he  saw  the  address  on  the  envelope  which  was  put 
in  his  hand  and  read  the  denomination  of  the  crisp  note 
under  it  that  was  the  price  of  silence. 

"  F-find  the  gentleman  and  give  it  to  him  yourself.     Er 

—  John?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Bass?" 

"  If  you  don't  find  him,  bring  it  back." 

When  the  man  had  gone,  Jethro  turned  down  the  gas 
and  went  again  to  his  chair  by  the  window.  For  a  while 
voices  came  up  to  him  from  the  street,  but  at  length  the 
groups  dispersed,  one  by  one,  and  a  distant  clock  boomed 
out  eleven  solemn  strokes.  Twice  the  clock  struck  again, 
at  the  half-hour  and  midnight,  and  the  noises  in  the  house 

—  the  banging  of  doors  and  the  jangling  of  keys  and  the 
hurrying  of  feet  in  the  corridors  —  were  hushed.     Jethro 
took  no  thought  of  these  or  of  time,  and  sat  gazing  at  the 
stars  in  the  depths  of  the  sky  above  the  capital  dome  until 
a  shadow  emerged  from  the  black  mass  of  the  trees  op 
posite  and  crossed  the  street.     In  a  few  minutes  there  were 
footsteps  in  the  corridor, — stealthy  footsteps  —  and  a  knock 
on  the  door.     Jethro  got  up  and  opened  it,  and  closed  it 
again  and  locked  it.     Then  he  turned  up  the  gas. 

"  S-sit  down,"  he  said,  and  nodded  his  head  toward  the 
chair  by  the  table. 

Isaac  Worthington  laid  his  silk  hat  on  the  table,  and 
sat  down.  He  looked  very  haggard  and  worn  in  that 
light,  very  unlike  the  first  citizen  who  had  entered  Bramp- 
ton  in  triumph  on  his  return  from  the  West  not  many 
months  before.  The  long  strain  of  a  long  fight,  in  which 
he  had  risked  much  for  which  he  had  labored  a  life  to  gain, 


506  CONISTON 

had  told  on  him,  and  there  were  crow's-feet  at  the  corners 
of  his  eyes,  and  dark  circles  under  them.  Isaac  Worth 
ington  had  never  lost  before,  and  to  destroy  the  fruits  of 
such  a  man's  ambition  is  to  destroy  the  man.  He  was  not 
as  young  as  he  had  once  been.  But  now,  in  the  very  hour 
of  defeat,  hope  had  rekindled  the  fire  in  the  eyes  and 
brought  back  the  peculiar,  tight-lipped,  mocking  smile  to 
the  mouth.  An  hour  ago,  when  he  had  been  pacing  Alex 
ander  Duncan's  library,  the  eyes  and  the  mouth  had  been 
different. 

Long  habit  asserts  itself  at  the  strangest  moments. 
Jethro  Bass  took  his  seat  by  the  window,  and  remained 
silent.  The  clock  tolled  the  half-hour  after  midnight. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me,"  said  Mr.  Worthingtou,  finally. 

Jethro  nodded,  almost  imperceptibly. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  slowly,  "  I  suppose 
you  are  ready  to  sell  out."  He  found  it  a  little  difficult 
to  control  his  voice. 

"  Yes/'  answered  Jethro,  "r-ready  to  sell  out." 

Mr.  Worthington  was  somewhat  taken  aback  by  this 
simple  admission.  He  glanced  at  Jethro  sitting  motionless 
by  the  window,  and  in  his  heart  he  feared  him:  he  had 
come  into  that  room  when  the  gas  was  low,  afraid.  Al 
though  he  would  not  confess  it  to  himself,  he  had  been 
in  fear  of  Jethro  Bass  all  his  life,  and  his  fear  had  been 
greater  than  ever  since  the  March  day  when  Jethro  had 
left  Coniston.  And  could  he  have  known,  now,  the  fires 
of  hatred  burning  in  Jethro's  breast,  Isaac  Worthington 
would  have  been  in  terror  indeed. 

"  What  have  you  got  to  sell?  "  he  demanded  sharply. 

"  G-guess  you  know,  or  you  wouldn't  have  come  here." 

"  What  proof  have  I  that  you  have  it  to  sell  ?  " 

Jethro  looked  at  him  for  an  instant. 

"  M-my  word,"  he  said. 

Isaac  Worthington  was  silent  for  a  while :  he  was  striv 
ing  to  calm  himself,  for  an  indefinable  something  had 
shaken  him.  The  strange  stillness  of  the  hour  and  the 
stranger  atmosphere  which  seemed  to  surround  this  trans 
action  filled  him  with  a  nameless  dread.  The  man  in  the 


A  BIOGEAPHICAL  EPISODE  507 

window  had  been  his  lifelong  enemy :  more  than  this, 
Jethro  Bass  was  not  like  ordinary  men  —  his  ways  were 
enshrouded  in  mystery,  and  when  he  struck,  he  struck 
hard.  There  grew  upon  Isaac  Worthington  a  sense  that 
this  midnight  hour  was  in  some  way  to  be  the  culmination 
of  the  long  years  of  hatred  between  them. 

He  believed  Jethro :  he  would  have  believed  him  even 
if  Mr.  Flint  had  not  informed  him  that  afternoon  that  he 
was  beaten,  and  bitterly  he  wished  he  had  taken  Mr.  Flint's 
advice  many  months  before.  Denunciation  sprang  to  his 
lips  which  he  dared  not  utter.  He  was  beaten,  and  he 
must  pay  —  the  pound  of  flesh.  Isaac  Worthington  al 
most  thought  it  would  be  a  pound  of  flesh. 

"  How  much  do  you  want? "  he  said. 

Again  Jethro  looked  at  him. 

"  B-biggest  price  you  can  pay,"  he  answered. 

"  You  must  have  made  up  your  mind  what  you  want. 
You've  had  time  enough." 

"  H-have  made  up  my  mind,"  said  Jethro. 

"  Make  your  demand,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  "  and  I'll 
give  you  my  answer." 

"  B-biggest  price  you  can  pay,"  said  Jethro,  again. 

Mr.  Worthington's  nerves  could  stand  it  no  longer. 

"Look  here,"  he  cried,  rising  in  his  chair,  "if  you've 
brought  me  here  to  trifle  with  me,  you've  made  a  mistake. 
It's  your  business  to  get  control  of  things  that  belong  to 
other  people,  and  sell  them  out.  I  am  here  to  buy. 
Nothing  but  necessity  brings  me  here,  and  nothing  but 
necessity  will  keep  me  here  a  moment  longer  than  I  have  to 
stay  to  finish  this  abominable  affair.  I  am  ready  to  pay  you 
twenty  thousand  dollars  the  day  that  bill  becomes  a  law." 

This  time  Jethro  did  not  look  at  him. 

"  P-pay  me  now,"  he  said. 

"  I  will  pay  you  the  day  the  bill  becomes  a  law.  Then 
I  shall  know  where  I  stand." 

Jethro  did  not  answer  this  ultimatum  in  any  manner, 
but  remained  perfectly  still  looking  out  of  the  window. 
Mr.  Worthington  glanced  at  him,  twice,  and  got  his  fingers 
on  the  brim  of  his  hat,  but  he  did  not  pick  it  up.  He 


508  CONISTON 

stood  so  for  a  while,  knowing  full  well  that  if  he  went 
out  of  that  room  his  chance  was  gone.  Consolidation 
might  come  in  other  years,  but  he,  Isaac  Worthington, 
would  not  be  a  factor  in  it. 

"  You  don't  want  a  check,  do  you  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  No  —  d-don't  want  a  check." 

"  What  in  God's  name  do  you  want  ?  I  haven't  got 
twenty  thousand  dollars  in  currency  in  my  pocket." 

"  Sit  down,  Isaac  Worthington,"  said  Jethro. 

Mr.  Worthington  sat  down  —  out  of  sheer  astonishment, 
perhaps. 

"  W-want  the  consolidation  —  don't  you  ?  Want  it  bad 
—  don't  you?" 

Mr.  Worthington  did  not  answer.  Jethro  stood  over 
him  now,  looking  down  at  him  from  the  other  side  of  the 
narrow  table. 

"  Know  Cynthy  Wetherell  ?  "  he  said. 

Then  Isaac  Worthington  understood  that  his  premoni 
tions  had  been  real.  The  pound  of  flesh  was  to  be  de 
manded,  but  strangely  enough,  he  did  not  yet  comprehend 
the  nature  of  it. 

"  I  know  that  there  is  such  a  person,"  he  answered,  for 
his  pride  would  not  permit  him  to  say  more. 

"  W-what  do  you  know  about  her  ?  " 

Isaac  Worthington  was  bitterly  angry  —  the  more  so 
because  he  was  helpless,  and  could  not  question  Jethro's 
right  to  ask.  What  did  he  know  about  her?  Nothing, 
except  that  she  had  intrigued  to  marry  his  son.  Bob's 
letter  had  described  her,  to  be  sure,  but  he  could  not  be 
expected  to  believe  that:  and  he  had  not  heard  Miss 
Lucretia  Penniman's  speech.  And  yet  he  could  not  tell 
Jethro  that  he  knew  nothing  about  her,  for  he  was  shrewd 
enough  to  perceive  the  drift  of  the  next  question. 

"  Kn-know  anything  against  her  ?  "  said  Jethro. 

Mr.  Worthington  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  I  can't  see  what  Miss  Wetherell  has  to  do  with  the 
present  occasion,"  he  replied. 

"  H-had  her  dismissed  by  the  prudential  committee  — 
had  her  dismissed  —  didn't  you?  " 


A  BIOGRAPHICAL  EPISODE  509 

"  They  chose  to  act  as  they  saw  fit." 

"  T-told  Levi  Dodd  to  dismiss  her  —  didn't  you  ?  " 

That  was  a  matter  of  common  knowledge  in  Brampton, 
having  leaked  out  through  Jonathan  Hill. 

"  I  must  decline  to  discuss  this,"  said  Mr.  Worthington. 

"  W-wouldn't  if  I  was  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  What  I  say.  T-told  Levi  Dodd  to  dismiss  her,  didn't 
you?" 

"  Yes,  I  did."  Isaac  Worthington  had  lost  in  self-esteem 
"by  not  saying  so  before. 

"Why?  Wahn't  she  honest?  Wahn't  she  capable? 
Wahn't  she  a  lady  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  know  anything  against  Miss  Wether- 
ell's  character,  if  that's  what  you  mean." 

"  F-fit  to  teach  —  wahn't  she  —  fit  to  teach  ?  " 

"I  believe  she  has  since  qualified  before  Mr.  Errol." 

"  Fit  to  teach  —  wahn't  fit  to  marry  your  son  —  was 
she?" 

Isaac  Worthington  clutched  the  table  and  started  from 
his  chair.  He  grew  white  to  his  lips  with  anger,  and  yet 
he  knew  that  he  must  control  himself. 

"  Mr.  Bass,"  he  said,  "  you  have  something  to  sell,  and  I 
have  something  to  buy — if  the  price  is  not  ruinous.  Let 
us  confine  ourselves  to  that.  My  affairs  and  my  son's 
affairs  are  neither  here  nor  there.  I  ask  you  again,  how 
much  do  you  want  for  this  Consolidation  Bill  ?  " 

"N-no  money  will  buy  it." 

"  What ! " 

"  C-consent  to  this  marriage,  c-consent  to  this  marriage." 

There  was  yet  room  for  Isaac  Worthington  to  be 
amazed,  and  for  a  while  he  stared  up  at  Jethro,  speechless. 

"  Is  that  your  price  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  Th-that's  my  price,"  said  Jethro. 

Isaac  Worthington  got  up  and  went  to  the  window  and 
stood  looking  out  above  the  black  mass  of  trees  at  the  dome 
outlined  against  the  star-flecked  sky.  At  first  his  anger 
choked  him,  and  he  could  not  think  ;  he  had  just  enough 
reason  left  not  to  walk  out  of  the  door.  But  presently 


510  CONISTON 

habit  asserted  itself  in  him,  too,  and  he  began  to  reflect  and 
calculate  in  spite  of  his  anger.  It  is  strange  that  memory 
plays  so  small  a  part  in  such  a  man.  Before  he  allowed 
his  mind  to  dwell  on  the  fearful  price,  he  thought  of  his 
ambitions  gratified ;  and  yet  he  did  not  think  then  of  the 
woman  to  whom  he  had  once  confided  those  ambitions 
—  the  woman  who  was  the  girl's  mother.  Perhaps  Jethro 
was  thinking  of  her. 

It  may  have  been — I  know  not  —  that  Isaac  Worthing- 
ton  wondered  at  this  revelation  of  the  character  of  Jethro 
Bass,  for  it  was  a  revelation.  For  this  girl's  sake  Jethro 
was  willing  to  forego  his  revenge,  was  willing  at  the  end 
of  his  days  to  allow  the  world  to  believe  that  he  had  sold 
out  to  his  enemy,  or  that  he  had  been  defeated  by  him. 

But  when  he  thought  of  the  marriage,  Isaac  Worthing- 
ton  ground  his  teeth.  A  certain  sentiment  which  we  may 
call  pride  was  so  strong  in  him  that  he  felt  ready  to  make 
almost  any  sacrifice  to  prevent  it.  To  hinder  it  he  had 
quarrelled  with  his  son,  and  driven  him  away,  and 
threatened  disinheritance.  The  price  was  indeed  heavy  — 
the  heaviest  he  could  pay.  But  the  alternative  —  was  not 
that  heavier?  To  relinquish  his  dream  of  power,  to  sink 
for  a  while  into  a  crippled  state ;  for  he  had  spent  large 
sums,  and  one  of  those  periodical  depressions  had  come  in 
the  business  of  the  mills,  and  those  Western  investments 
were  not  looking  so  bright  now. 

So,  with  his  hands  opening  and  closing  in  front  of  him, 
Isaac  Worthington  fought  out  his  battle.  A  terrible  war, 
that,  between  ambition  and  pride  —  a  war  to  the  knife. 
The  issue  may  yet  have  been  undecided  when  he  turned 
round  to  Jethro  with  a  sneer  which  he  could  not  resist. 

"  Why  doesn't  she  marry  him  without  my  consent?" 

In  a  moment  Mr.  Worthington  knew  he  had  gone  too 
far.  A  certain  kind  of  an  eye  is  an  incomparable  weapon, 
and  armed  men  have  been  cowed  by  those  who  possess  it, 
though  otherwise  defenceless.  Jethro  Bass  had  that  kind 
of  an  eye. 

"  G-guess  you  wouldn't  understand  if  I  was  to  tell  you/" 
he  said. 


A  BIOGRAPHICAL  EPISODE  511 

Mr.  Worthington  walked  to  the  window  again,  perhaps 
to  compose  himself,  and  then  came  back  again. 

"  Your  proposition  is,"  he  said  at  length,  "  that  if  I  give 
my  consent  to  this  marriage,  we  are  to  have  Bixby  and  the 
governor,  and  the  Consolidation  Bill  will  become  a  law. 
Is  that  it  ?  " 

"  Th-that's  it,"  said  Jethro,  taking  his  accustomed  seat. 

"  And  this  consent  is  to  be  given  when  the  bill  becomes 
a  law?" 

"  Given  now.     T-to-night." 

Mr.  Worthington  took  another  turn  as  far  as  the  door, 
and  suddenly  came  and  stood  before  Jethro. 

"Well,  I  consent." 

Jethro  nodded  toward  the  table. 

"  Er  —  pen  and  paper  there,"  he  said. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?  "  demanded  Mr.  Worth 
ington. 

"  W-write  to  Bob  —  write  to  Cynthy.     Nice  letters." 

"This  is  carrying  matters  with  too  high  a  hand,  Mr. 
Bass.  I  will  write  the  letters  to-morrow  morning."  It 
was  intolerable  that  he,  the  first  citizen  of  Brampton, 
should  have  to  submit  to  such  humiliation. 

"  Write  'em  now.     W-want  to  see  'em." 

"  But  if  I  give  you  my  word  they  will  be  written  and 
sent  to  you  to-morrow  afternoon  ?  " 

"T-too  late,"  said  Jethro;  "sit  down  and  write  'em 
now." 

Mr.  Worthington  went  irresolutely  to  the  table,  stood 
for  a  minute,  and  dropped  suddenly  into  the  chair  there. 
He  would  have  given  anything  (except  the  realization  of 
his  ambitions)  to  have  marched  out  of  the  room  and  to 
have  slammed  the  door  behind  him.  The  letter  paper  and 
envelopes  which  Jethro  had  bought  stood  in  a  little  pile, 
and  Mr.  Worthington  picked  up  the  pen.  The  clock 
struck  two  as  he  wrote  the  date,  as  though  to  remind  him 
that  he  had  written  it  wrong.  If  Flint  could  see  him 
now !  Would  Flint  guess  ?  Would  anybody  guess  ?  He 
stared  at  the  white  paper,  and  his  rage  came  on  again  like 
a  gust  of  wind,  and  he  felt  that  he  would  rather  beg  in  the 


512  CONISTON 

streets  than  write  such  a  thing.  And  yet  —  and  yet  he 
sat  there.  Surely  Jethro  Bass  must  have  known  that  he 
could  have  taken  no  more  exquisite  vengeance  than  this, 
to  compel  a  man  —  and  such  a  man  —  to  sit  down  in  the 
white  heat  of  passion  and  write  two  letters  of  forgiveness ! 
Jethro  sat  by  the  window,  to  all  appearances  oblivious  to 
the  tortures  of  his  victim. 

He  who  has  tried  to  write  a  note. —  the  simplest  note  — 
when  his  mind  was  harassed,  will  understand  something  of 
Isaac  Worthington's  sensations.  He  would  no  sooner  get 
an  inkling  of  what  his  opening  sentence  was  to  be  than 
the  flames  of  his  anger  would  rise  and  sweep  it  away. 
He  could  not  even  decide  which  letter  he  was  to  write 
first:  to  his  son,  who  had  defied  him  and  who  (the  father 
knew  in  his  heart)  contemned  him?  or  to  the  school 
teacher,  who  was  responsible  for  all  his  misery;  who  —  Mr. 
Worthington  believed  —  had  taken  advantage  of  his  son's 
youth  by  feminine  wiles  of  no  mean  order  so  as  to  gain 
possession  of  him.  I  can  almost  bring  myself  to  pity  the 
first  citizen  of  Brampton  as  he  sits  there  with  his  pen 
poised  over  the  paper,  and  his  enemy  waiting  to  read 
those  tender  epistles  of  forgiveness  which  he  has  yet  to 
write.  The  clock  has  almost  got  round  to  the  half-hour 
again,  and  there  is  only  the  date  —  and  a  wrong  one  at 
that. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Wetherell,  —  Circumstances  (over  which 
I  have  no  control  ?)  "  —  ought  he  not  to  call  her  Cynthia  ? 
He  has  to  make  the  letter  credible  in  the  eyes  of  the  cen 
sor  who  sits  by  the  window.  "  My  dear  Miss  Wetherell, — 
I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  "  —  two  sheets  torn  up,  or 
thrust  into  Mr.  Worthington's  pocket.  By  this  time 
words  have  begun  to  have  a  colorless  look.  "  My  dear 
Miss  Wetherell,  —  Having  become  convinced  of  the  sin 
cere  attachment  which  my  son  Robert  has  for  you,  I  am 
writing  him  to-night  to  give  my  full  consent  to  his  mar 
riage.  He  has  given  me  to  understand  that  you  have 
hitherto  persistently  refused  to  accept  him  because  I  have 
withheld  that  consent,  and  I  take  this  opportunity  of 
expressing  my  admiration  of  this  praiseworthy  resolution 


A  BIOGRAPHICAL  EPISODE.  513 

on  your  part."  (If  this  be  irony,  it  is  sublime  !  Perhaps 
Isaac  Worthington  has  a  little  of  the  artist  in  him,  and 
now  that  he  is  in  the  heat  of  creation  has  forgotten  the 
circumstances  under  which  he  is  composing.)  "  My  son's 
happiness  and  career  in  life  are  of  such  moment  to  me  that, 
until  the  present,  I  could  not  give  my  sanction  to  what  I 
at  first  regarded  as  a  youthful  fancy.  Now  that  my  son, 
for  your  sake,  has  shown  his  determination  and  ability  to 
make  his  own  way  in  the  world  "  (Isaac  Worthington  was 
not  a  little  proud  of  this)  "  I  have  determined  that  it  is 
wise  to  withdraw  my  opposition,  and  to  recall  Robert  to 
his  proper  place,  which  is  near  me.  I  am  sure  that  my 
feelings  in  this  matter  will  be  clear  to  you,  and  that  you 
will  look  with  indulgence  upon  any  acts  of  mine  which 
sprang  from  a  natural  solicitation  for  the  welfare  and 
happiness  of  my  only  child.  I  shall  be  in  Brampton  in  a 
day  or  two,  and  I  shall  at  once  give  myself  the  pleasure  of 
calling  on  you.  Sincerely  yours,  Isaac  D.  Worthington." 

Perhaps  a  little  formal  and  pompous  for  some  people, 
but  an  admirable  and  conciliatory  letter  for  the  first  citizen 
of  Brampton.  Written  under  such  trying  circumstances, 
with  I  know  not  how  many  erasures  and  false  starts,  it  is 
little  short  of  a  marvel  in  art :  neither  too  much  said,  nor 
too  little,  for  a  relenting  parent  of  Mr.  Worthington's 
character,  and  I  doubt  whether  Talleyrand  or  Napoleon  or 
even  Machiavelli  himself  could  have  surpassed  it.  The 
second  letter,  now  that  Mr.  Worthington  had  got  into  the 
swing,  was  more  easily  written.  "  My  dear  Robert "  (it 
said),  —  "I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  give  my  consent  to 
your  marriage  to  Miss  Wetherell,  and  I  am  ready  to  wel 
come  you  home,  where  I  trust  I  shall  see  you  shortly.  I 
have  not  been  unimpressed  by  the  determined  manner  in 
which  you  have  gone  to  work  for  yourself,  but  I  believe 
that  your  place  is  in  Brampton,  where  I  trust  you  will 
show  the  same  energy  in  learning  to  succeed  me  in  the 
business  which  I  have  founded  there  as  you  have  exhibited 
in  Mr.  Broke's  works.  Affectionately,  your  Father." 

A  very  creditable  and  handsome  letter  for  a  forgiving 
father.  When  Mr.  Worthington  had  finished  it,  and  had 


514  CONISTON 

addressed  both  the  envelopes,  his  shame  and  vexation  had, 
curious  to  relate,  very  considerably  abated.  Not  to 
go  too  deeply  into  the  somewhat  contradictory  mental 
and  cardiac  processes  of  Mr.  Worthington,  he  had  some 
how  tricked  himself  by  that  magic  exercise  of  wielding  his 
pen  into  thinking  that  he  was  doing  a  noble  and  generous 
action  :  into  believing  that  in  the  course  of  a  very  few 
days  —  or  weeks,  at  the  most  —  he  would  have  recalled  his 
erring  son  and  have  given  Cynthia  his  blessing.  He  would, 
he  told  himself,  have  been  forced  eventually  to  yield  when 
that  paragon  of  inflexibility,  Bob,  dictated  terms  to  him  at 
the  head  of  the  locomotive  works.  Better  let  the  gener 
osity  be  on  his  (Mr.  Worthington's)  side.  At  all  events, 
victory  had  never  been  bought  more  cheaply.  Humilia 
tion,  in  Mr.  Worthington's  eyes,  had  an  element  of  publicity 
in  it,  and  this  episode  had  had  none  of  that  element ;  and 
Jethro  Bass,  moreover,  was  a  highwayman  who  had  held  a 
pistol  to  his  head.  In  such  logical  manner  he  gradually 
bolstered  up  again  his  habitual  poise  and  dignity.  Next 
week,  at  the  latest,  men  would  point  to  him  as  the  head  of 
the  largest  railroad  interests  in  the  state. 

He  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  rose,  merely  indicating  the 
result  of  his  labors  by  a  wave  of  his  hand.  And  he  stood 
in  the  window  as  Jethro  Bass  got  up  and  went  to  the  table. 
I  would  that  I  had  a  pen  able  to  describe  Jethro's  sensa 
tions  when  he  read  them.  Unfortunately,  he  is  a  man 
with  few  facial  expressions.  But  I  believe  that  he  was 
artist  enough  himself  to  appreciate  the  perfections  of  the 
first  citizen's  efforts.  After  a  much  longer  interval  than 
was  necessary  for  their  perusal,  Mr.  Worthington  turned. 

"  G-guess  they'll  do,"  said  Jethro,  as  he  folded  them  up. 
He  was  too  generous  not  to  indulge,  for  once,  in  a  little 
well-deserved  praise.  "  Hain't  underdone  it,  and  hain't 
overdone  it  a  mite  — hev  you  ?  M-man  of  resource.  Cal- 
late  you  couldn't  hev  beat  that  if  you  was  to  take  a  week 
to  it." 

"  I  think  it  only  fair  to  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Worthington, 
picking  up  his  silk  hat,  "  that  in  those  letters  I  have  merely 
anticipated  a  very  little  my  intentions  in  the  matter.  My 


A   BIOGRAPHICAL   EPISODE  515 

son  having  proved  his  earnestness,  I  was  about  to  consent 
to  the  marriage  of  my  own  accord." 

"  G-goin'  to  do  it  anyway  —  was  you  ?  " 

"  I  had  so  determined." 

"  A-always  thought  you  was  high-minded,"  said  Jethro. 

Mr.  Worthington  was  on  the  point  of  giving  a  tart 
reply  to  this,  but  restrained  himself. 

"  Then  I  may  look  upon  the  matter  as  settled  ?"  he  said. 
"  The  Consolidation  Bill  is  to  become  a  law  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jethro,  "  you'll  get  your  bill."  Mr.  Worth 
ington  had  got  his  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  door  when 
Jethro  stopped  him  with  a  word.  He  had  no  facial  expres 
sions,  but  he  had  an  eye,  as  we  have  seen  —  an  eye  that 
for  the  second  time  appeared  terrible  to  his  visitor. 
"  Isaac  Worthington,"  he  said,  "  a-act  up  to  it.  No  trick 
ery  —  or  look  out  —  look  out." 

Then,  the  incident  being  closed  so  far  as  he  was  con 
cerned,  Jethro  went  back  to  his  chair  by  the  window,  but 
it  is  to  be  recorded  that  Isaac  Worthington  did  not  answer 
him  immediately.  Then  he  said  :  — 

"  You  seem  to  forget  that  you  are  talking  to  a  gentle 
man." 

"  That's  so,"  answered  Jethro,  "so  you  be." 

He  sat  where  he  was  long  after  the  sky  had  whitened 
and  the  stars  had  changed  from  gold  to  silver  and  gone 
out,  and  the  sunlight  had  begun  to  glance  upon  the  green 
leaves  of  the  park.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  the  life 
he  had  lived,  which  was  spent  now :  of  the  men  he  had 
ruled,  of  the  victories  he  had  gained  from  that  place  which 
would  know  him  no  more.  He  had  won  the  last  and  the 
greatest  of  his  victories  there,  compared  to  which  the  others 
had  indeed  been  as  vanities.  Perhaps  he  looked  back  over 
the  highway  of  his  life  and  thought  of  the  woman  whom  he 
had  loved,  and  wondered  what  it  had  been  if  she  had  trod 
it  by  his  side.  Who  will  judge  him?  He  had  been  what 
he  had  been ;  and  as  the  Era  was,  so  was  he.  Verily,  one 
generation  passeth  away,  and  another  generation  cometh. 


516  COKISTON 

When  Mr.  Isaac  Worthington  arrived  at  Mr.  Duncan's 
house,  where  he  was  staying,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing,  he  saw  to  his  surprise  light  from  the  library  windows 
lying  in  bars  across  the  lawn  under  the  trees.  He 
found  Mr.  Duncan  in  that  room  with  Somers,  his  son,  who 
had  just  returned  from  a  seaside  place,  and  they  were  dis 
cussing  a  very  grave  event.  Miss  Janet  Duncan  had  that 
day  eloped  with  a  gentleman  who  —  to  judge  from  the 
photograph  Somers  held  —  was  both  handsome  and  roman 
tic-looking.  He  had  long  hair  and  burning  eyes,  and  a 
title  not  to  be  then  verified,  and  he  owned  a  castle  near 
some  place  on  the  peninsula  of  Italy  not  on  the  map. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

CONTAINING  FREE  TRANSPORTATION  TO  BRAMPTON 

WE  are  back  in  Brampton,  owning,  as  we  do,  an  annual 
pass  over  the  Truro  Railroad.  Cynthia  has  been  there  all 
the  summer,  and  as  it  is  now  the  first  of  September,  her 
school  has  begun  again.  I  do  not  by  any  means  intend  to 
imply  that  Brampton  is  not  a  pleasant  place  to  spend  the 
summer :  the  number  of  its  annual  visitors  is  a  refutation 
of  that ;  but  to  Cynthia  the  season  had  been  one  of  great  un- 
happiness.  Several  times  Lem  Hallowell  had  stopped  the 
stage  in  front  of  Ephraim's  house  to  beg  her  to  go  to 
Coniston,  and  Mr.  Satterlee  had  come  himself;  but  she 
could  not  have  borne  to  be  there  without  Jethro.  Nor 
would  she  go  to  Boston,  though  urged  by  Miss  Lucretia : 
and  Mrs.  Merrill  and  the  girls  had  implored  her  to  join 
them  at  a  seaside  place  on  the  Cape. 

Cynthia  had  made  a  little  garden  behind  Ephraim's 
house,  and  she  spent  the  summer  there  with  her  flowers 
and  her  books,  many  of  which  Lem  had  fetched  from 
Coniston.  Ephraim  loved  to  sit  there  of  an  evening  and 
smoke  his  pipe  and  chat  with  Ezra  Graves  and  the  neigh 
bors  who  dropped  in.  Among  these  were  Mr.  Gamaliel 
Ives,  who  talked  literature  with  Cynthia ;  and  Lucy 
Baird,  his  wife,  who  had  taken  Cynthia  under  her  wing. 
I  wish  I  had  time  to  write  about  Lucy  Baird.  And  Mr. 
Jonathan  Hill  came  —  his  mortgage  not  having  been  fore 
closed,  after  all.  When  Cynthia  was  alone  with  Ephraim 
she  often  read  to  him,  —  generally  from  books  of  a  martial 
flavor,  —  and  listened  with  an  admirable  hypocrisy  to  cer 
tain  narratives  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  telling. 

They  never  spoke  of  Jethro.     Ephraim  was  not  a  casuist, 

617 


518  CCXNTISTON 

and  his  sense  of  right  and  wrong  came  largely  through  his 
affections.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  he  never  made  an  analysis 
of  the  sorrow  which  he  knew  was  afflicting  the  girl,  but  he 
had  had  a  general  and  most  sympathetic  understanding  of 
it  ever  since  the  time  when  Jethro  had  gone  back  to  the  capi 
tal;  and  Ephraim  never  brought  home  his  Gruardian  or 
his  Clarion  now,  but  read  them  at  the  office,  that  their 
contents  might  not  disturb  her. 

No  wonder  that  Cynthia  was  unhappy.  The  letters 
came,  almost  every  day,  with  the  postmark  of  the  town  in 
New  Jersey  where  Mr.  Broke's  locomotive  works  were ; 
and  she  answered  them  now  (but  oh,  how  scrupulously !), 
though  not  every  day.  If  the  waters  of  love  rose  up 
through  the  grains  of  sand,  it  was,  at  least,  not  Cynthia's 
fault.  Hers  were  the  letters  of  a  friend.  She  was  read 
ing  such  and  such  a  book  —  had  he  read  it  ?  And  he 
must  not  work  too  hard.  How  could  her  letters  be  other 
wise  when  Jethro  Bass,  her  benefactor,  was  at  the  capital 
working  to  defeat  and  perhaps  to  ruin  Bob's  father  ?  when 
Bob's  father  had  insulted  and  persecuted  her  ?  She  ought 
not  to  have  written  at  all ;  but  the  lapses  of  such  a  hero 
ine  are  very  rare,  and  very  dear. 

Yes,  Cynthia's  life  was  very  bitter  that  summer,  with 
but  little  hope  on  the  horizon  of  it.  Her  thoughts  were 
divided  between  Bob  and  Jethro.  Many  a  night  she  lay 
awake  resolving  to  write  to  Jethro,  even  to  go  to  him,  but 
when  morning  came  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  do  so. 
I  do  not  think  it  was  because  she  feared  that  he  might 
believe  her  appeal  would  be  made  in  behalf  of  Bob's  father. 
Knowing  Jethro  as  she  did,  she  felt  that  it  would  be  use 
less,  and  she  could  not  bear  to  make  it  in  vain ;  if  the 
memory  of  that  evening  in  the  tannery  shed  would  not 
serve,  nothing  would  serve.  And  again  —  he  had  gone  to 
avenge  her. 

It  was  inevitable  that  she  should  hear  tidings  from  the 
capital.  Isaac  Worthington's  own  town  was  ringing  with 
it.  And  as  week  after  week  of  that  interminable  session 
went  by,  the  conviction  slowly  grew  upon  Brampton  that 
its  first  citizen  had  been  beaten  by  Jethro  Bass.  Some- 


TRANSPORTATION  TO  BRAMPTON  519 

thing  of  Mr.  Worthington's  affairs  was  known :  the  mills, 
for  instance,  were  not  being  run  to  their  full  capacity. 
And  then  had  come  the  definite  news  that  Mr.  Worthing- 
ton  was  beaten,  a  local  representative  having  arrived 
straight  from  the  rotunda.  Cynthia  overheard  Lem  Hal- 
lowell  telling  it  to  Ephraim,  and  she  could  not  for  the  life 
of  her  help  rejoicing,  though  she  despised  herself  for  it. 
Isaac  Worfhington  was  humbled  now,  and  Jethro  had  hum 
bled  him  to  avenge  her.  Despite  her  grief  over  his  return 
to  that  life,  there  was  something  to  compel  her  awe  and 
admiration  in  the  way  he  had  risen  and  done  this  thing 
after  men  had  fallen  from  him.  Her  mother  had  had 
something  of  these  same  feelings,  without  knowing  why. 

People  who  had  nothing  but  praise  for  him  before  were 
saying  hard  things  about  Isaac  Worthington  that  night. 
When  the  baron  is  defeated,  the  serfs  come  out  of  their 
holes  in  the  castle  rock  and  fling  their  curses  across  the 
moat.  Cynthia  slept  but  little,  and  was  glad  when  the 
day  came  to  take  her  to  her  scholars,  to  ease  her  mind  of 
the  thoughts  which  tortured  it. 

And  then,  when  she  stopped  at  the  post-office  to  speak 
to  Ephraim  on  her  way  homeward  in  the  afternoon,  she 
heard  men  talking  behind  the  partition,  and  she  stood,  as 
one  stricken,  listening  beside  the  window.  Other  tidings 
had  come  in  the  shape  of  a  telegram.  The  first  rumor  had 
been  false.  Brampton  had  not  yet  received  the  details, 
but  the  Consolidation  Bill  had  gone  into  the  House  that 
morning,  and  would  be  a  law  before  the  week  was  out. 
A  part  of  it  was  incomprehensible  to  Cynthia,  but  so  much 
she  had  understood.  She  did  not  wait  to  speak  to  Ephraim, 
and  she  was  going  out  again  when  a  man  rushed  past  her 
and  through  the  partition  door.  Cynthia  paused  instinc 
tively,  for  she  recognized  him  as  one  of  the  frequenters  of 
the  station  and  a  bearer  of  news. 

"  Jethro's  come  home,  boys,"  he  shouted;  "come  in  on 
the  four  o'clock,  and  went  right  off  to  Coniston.  Guess 
he's  done  for,  this  time,  for  certain.  Looks  it.  By  God 
frey,  he  looks  eighty !  Callate  his  day's  over,  from  the 
way  the  boys  talked  on  the  train." 


520  CONISTON 

Cynthia  lingered  to  hear  no  more,  and  went  out,  dazed, 
into  the  September  sunshine.  Jethro  beaten,  and  broken, 
and  gone  to  Coniston.  Resolution  came  to  her  as  she 
walked.  Arriving  home,  she  wrote  a  little  note  and  left 
it  on  the  table  for  Ephraim ;  and  going  out  again,  ran  by 
the  back  lane  to  Mr.  Sherman's  livery  stable  behind  the 
Brampton  House,  and  in  half  an  hour  was  driving  along 
that  familiar  road  to  Coniston,  alone ;  for  she  had  often 
driven  Jethro's  horses,  and  knew  every  turn  of  the  way. 
And  as  she  gazed  at  the  purple  mountain  through  the  haze 
and  drank  in  the  sweet  scents  of  the  year's  fulness,  she 
was  strangely  happy.  There  was  the  village  green  in  the 
cool  evening  light,  and  the  flagstaff  with  its  tip  silvered 
by  the  departing  sun.  She  waved  to  Rias  and  Lem  and 
Moses  at  the  store,  but  she  drove  on  to  the  tannery  house, 
and  hitched  the  horse  at  the  rough  granite  post,  and  went 
in,  and  through  the  house,  softly,  to  the  kitchen. 

Jethro  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  and  did  not  turn. 
He  may  have  thought  she  was  Millicent  Skinner.  Cynthia 
could  see  his  face.  It  was  older,  indeed,  and  lined  and 
worn,  but  that  fearful  look  of  desolation  which  she  had 
once  surprised  upon  it,  and  which  she  in  that  instant 
feared  to  see,  was  not  there.  Jethro's  soul  was  at  peace, 
though  Cynthia  could  not  understand  why  it  was  so.  She 
stole  to  him  and  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  with  a 
cry  he  seized  her  and  held  her  against  him  for  I  know  not 
how  long.  Had  it  been  possible  to  have  held  her  there 
always,  he  would  never  have  let  her  go.  At  last  he  looked 
down  into  her  tear-vet  face,  into  her  eyes  that  were  shin 
ing  with  tears. 

"D-done  wrong,  Cynthy." 

Cynthia  did  not  answer  that,  for  she  remembered  how 
she,  too,  had  exulted  when  she  had  believed  him  to  have 
accomplished  Isaac  Worthington's  downfall.  Now  that  he 
had  failed,  and  she  was  in  his  arms,  it  was  not  for  her  to 
judge  —  only  to  rejoice. 

"  Didn't  look  for  you  to  come  back  —  didn't  expect  it." 

"  Uncle  Jethro  !  "  she  faltered.  Love  for  her  had  made 
him  go,  and  she  would  not  say  that,  either. 


TRANSPORTATION   TO   BRAMPTON  521 

"  D-don't  hate  me,  Cynthy  —  don't  hate  me  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Love  me  —  a  little  ?  " 

She  reached  up  her  hands  and  brushed  back  his  hair, 
tenderly,  from  his  forehead.  Such  —  a  loving  gesture  — 
was  her  answer. 

"  You  are  going  to  stay  here  always,  now,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice,  "  you  are  never  going  away  again." 

".  G-goin'  to  stay  always,"  he  answered.  Perhaps  he 
was  thinking  of  the  hillside  clearing  in  the  forest  —  who 
knows  !  "  You'll  come  —  sometime,  Cynthy  —  sometime?  " 

"  I'll  come  every  Saturday  and  Sunday,  Uncle  Jethro," 
she  said,  smiling  up  at  him.  "  Saturday  is  only  two 
days  away,  now.  I  can  hardly  wait." 

"  Y-you'll  come  sometime  ?  " 

"Uncle  Jethro,  do  you  think  I'll  be  away  from  you, 
except  —  except  when  1  have  to?" 

"  C-comeand  read  tome — won't  you  —  come  and  read?" 

"  Of  course  I  will !  " 

"  C-call  to  mind  the  first  book  you  read  to  me,  Cynthy?" 

"  It  was  '  Robinson  Crusoe,'  "  she  said. 

" '  R-Robinson  Crusoe.'  Often  thought  of  that  book. 
Know  some  of  it  by  heart.  R-read  it  again,  sometime, 
Cynthy?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  a  little  anxiously.  His  eyes 
were  on  the  great  hill  opposite,  across  Coniston  Water. 

"  I  will,  indeed,  Uncle  Jethro,  if  we  can  find  it,"  she 
answered. 

"  Guess  I  can  find  it,"  said  Jethro.  "  R-remember  when 
you  saw  him  makin'  a  ship?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Cynthia,  "and  I  had  my  feet  in  the  pool." 

The  book  had  made  a  profound  impression  upon  Jethro, 
partly  because  Cynthia  had  first  read  it  to  him,  and  partly 
for  another  reason.  The  isolation  of  Crusoe,  depicted  by 
Defoe's  genius,  had  been  comparable  to  his  own  isolation, 
and  he  had  pondered  upon  it  much  of  late.  Yes,  and  upon 
a  certain  part  of  another  book  which  he  had  read  earlier  in 
life :  Napoleon  had  ended  his  days  on  St.  Helena. 

They  walked  out  under  the  trees  to  the  brookside  and 


522  CONISTON 

stood  listening  to  the  tinkling  of  the  cowbells  in  the  wood- 
lot  beyond.  The  light  faded  early  on  these  September 
evenings,  and  the  smoky  mist  had  begun  to  rise  from  the 
water  when  they  turned  back  again.  The  kitchen  windows 
were  already  growing  yellow,  and  through  them  the  faith 
ful  Millicent  could  be  seen  bustling  about  in  her  prepara 
tions  for  supper.  But  Cynthia,  having  accomplished  her 
errand,  would  not  go  in.  She  could  not  have  borne  to 
have  any  one  drive  back  with  her  to  Brampton  then,  and 
she  must  not  be  late  upon  the  road. 

"  I  will  come  Friday  evening,  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said, 
as  she  kissed  him  and  gave  one  last,  lingering  look  at  his 
face.  Had  it  been  possible,  she  would  not  have  left  him, 
and  on  her  way  to  Brampton  through  the  gathering  dark 
ness  she  mused  anxiously  upon  that  strange  calmness  he 
had  shown  after  defeat. 

She  drove  her  horse  on  to  the  floor  of  Mr.  Sherman's 
stable,  that  gentleman  himself  gallantly  assisting  her  to 
alight,  and  walked  homeward  through  the  lane.  Ephraim 
had  not  yet  returned  from  the  post-office,  which  did  not 
close  until  eight,  and  Cynthia  smiled  when  she  saw  the 
utensils  of  his  cooking-kit  strewn  on  the  hearth.  In  her 
absence  he  invariably  unpacked  and  used  it,  and  of  course 
Cynthia  at  once  set  herself  to  cleaning  and  packing  it 
again.  After  that  she  got  her  own  supper  —  a  very  simple 
affair  —  and  was  putting  the  sitting  room  to  rights  when 
Ephraim  came  thumping  in. 

"  Well,  I  swan  !  "  he  exclaimed  when  he  saw  her. 
"  I  didn't  look  for  you  to  come  back  so  soon,  Cynthy. 
Put  up  the  kit  —  hev  you?"  He  stood  in  front  of  the 
fireplace  staring  with  apparent  interest  at  the  place  where 
the  kit  had  been,  and  added  in  a  voice  which  he  strove 
to  make  quite  casual,  "  How  be  Jethro  ?  " 

"  He  looks  older,  Cousin  Eph,"  she  answered,  after  a 
pause,  "and  I  think  he  is  very  tired.  But  he  seems  — 
he  seems  more  tranquil  and  contented  than  I  hoped  to 
find  him." 

"  I  want  to  know,"  said  Ephraim.  "  I  am  glad  to  hear 
it.  Glad  you  went  up,  Cynthy  —  you  done  right  to  go. 


TRANSPORTATION  TO   BRAMPTON  523 

I'd  have  gone  with  you,  if  you'd  only  told  me.  I'll  git 
a  chance  to  go  up  Sunday." 

There  was  an  air  of  repressed  excitement  about  the  vet 
eran  which  did  not  escape  Cynthia.  He  held  two  letters 
in  his  hand,  and,  being  a  postmaster,  he  knew  the  hand 
writing  on  both.  One  had  come  from  that  place  in  New 
Jersey,  and  drew  no  comment.  But  the  other !  That  one 
had  been  postmarked  at  the  capital,  and  as  he  had  sat  at 
his  counter  at  the  post-office  waiting  for  closing  time 
he  had  turned  it  over  and  over  with  many  ejaculations 
and  futile  guesses.  Past  master  of  dissimulation  that  he 
was,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  —  if  he  should  find  Cyn 
thia  at  home  —  to  lay  the  letters  indifferently  on  the 
table  and  walk  into  his  bedroom.  This  campaign  he  now 
proceeded  to  cany  out. 

Cynthia  smiled  again  when  he  was  gone,  and  shook 
her  head  and  picked  up  the  letters.  Bob's  was  upper 
most  and  she  read  that  first,  without  a  thought  of  the 
other  one.  And  she  smiled  as  she  read  —  for  Bob  had  had 
a  promotion.  He  was  not  yet  at  the  head  of  the  locomo 
tive  works,  he  hastened  to  add,  for  fear  that  Cynthia 
might  think  that  Mr.  Broke  had  resigned  the  presidency 
in  his  favor ;  and  Cynthia  never  failed  to  laugh  at  these 
little  facetious  asides.  He  was  now  earning  the  princely 
sum  of  ninety  dollars  a  month  —  not  enough  to  marry 
on,  alas  I  On  Saturday  nights  he  and  Percy  Broke 
scrubbed  as  much  as  possible  of  the  grime  from  their 
hands  and  faces  and  went  to  spend  Sunday  at  Elberon, 
the  Broke  place  on  the  Hudson ;  from  whence  Miss  Sally 
Broke,  if  she  happened  to  be  at  home,  always  sent 
Cynthia  her  love.  As  Cynthia  is  still  a  heroine,  I  shall 
not  describe  how  she  felt  about  Sally  Broke's  love.  There 
was  plenty  of  Bob's  own  in  the  letter.  Cynthia  would 
not  have  blamed  him  if  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Miss 
Broke.  It  seemed  to  her  little  short  of  miraculous  that, 
amidst  such  surroundings,  he  could  be  true  to  her. 

After  a  period  which  was  no  briefer  than  that  usually 
occupied  by  Bob's  letters,  Cynthia  took  the  other  one 
from  her  lap,  and  stared  at  it  in  much  perplexity  before 


524  CONISTON 

she  tore  it  open.  We  have  seen  its  contents  over  Mr. 
Worthington's  shoulder,  and  our  hearts  will  not  stop 
beating  —  as  Cynthia's  did.  She  read  it  twice  before  the 
full  meaning  of  it  came  to  her,  and  after  that  she  could 
not  well  mistake  it,  —  the  language  being  so  admirable 
in  every  way.  She  sat  very  still  for  a  long  while,  and 
presently  she  heard  Ephraim  go  out.  But  Cynthia  did 
not  move.  Mr.  Worthington  relented  and  Bob  recalled! 
The  vista  of  happiness  suddenly  opened  up,  widened  and 
widened  until  it  was  too  bright  for  Cynthia's  vision,  and 
she  would  compel  her  mind  to  dwell  on  another  pros 
pect,  —  that  of  the  father  and  son  reconciled.  Although 
her  temples  throbbed,  she  tried  to  analyze  the  letter. 
It  implied  that  Mr.  Worthington  had  allowed  Bob  to 
remain  away  on  a  sort  of  probation ;  it  implied  that  it  had 
been  dictated  by  a  strong  paternal  love  mingled  with  a 
strong  paternal  justice.  And  then  there  was  the  appeal 
to  her  :  "  You  will  look  with  indulgence  upon  any  acts 
of  mine  which  sprang  from  a  natural  solicitation  for  the 
welfare  and  happiness  of  my  only  child."  A  terrible  insight 
is  theirs  to  whom  it  is  given  to  love  as  Cynthia  loved. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  knock  which  frightened  her,  for 
her  mind  was  running  on  swiftly  from  point  to  point :  had, 
indeed,  flown  as  far  as  Coniston  by  now,  and  she  was  think 
ing  of  that  strange  look  of  peace  on  Jethro's  face  which 
had  troubled  her.  One  letter  she  thrust  into  her  dress, 
but  the  other  she  laid  aside,  and  her  knees  trembled  under 
her  as  she  rose  and  went  into  the  entry  and  raised  the 
latch  and  opened  the  door.  There  was  a  moon,  and  the 
figure  in  the  frock  coat  and  the  silk  hat  was  the  one  which 
she  expected  to  see.  The  silk  hat  came  off  very  promptly. 

"I  hope  I  am  not  disturbing  you,  Miss  Wetherell,"  said 
the  owner  of  it. 

"  No,"  answered  Cynthia,  faintly. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  " 

Cynthia  held  open  the  door  a  little  wider,  and  Mr. 
Worthington  walked  in.  He  seemed  very  majestic  and 
out  of  place  in  the  little  house  which  Gabriel  Post  had 
built,  and  he  carried  into  it  some  of  the  atmosphere  of  the 


TRANSPORTATION  TO   BRAMPTON  525 

walnut  and  high  ceilings  of  his  own  mansion.  His  man 
ner  of  laying  his  hat,  bottom  up,  on  the  table,  and  of  un 
buttoning  his  coat,  subtly  indicated  the  honor  which  he 
was  conferring  upon  the  place.  And  he  eyed  Cynthia, 
standing  before  him  in  the  lamplight,  with  a  modification 
of  the  hawklike  look  which  was  meant  to  be  at  once  conde 
scending  and  conciliatory.  He  did  not  imprint  a  kiss  upon 
her  brow,  as  some  prospective  fathers-in-law  would  have 
done.  But  his  eyes,  perhaps  involuntarily,  paid  a  tribute  to 
her  personal  appearance  which  heightened  her  color.  She 
might  not,  after  all,  be  such  a  discredit  to  the  Worthington 
family. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Thank  you,  Cynthia,"  he  said ;  "  I  hope  I  may  now  be 
allowed  to  call  you  Cynthia?" 

She  did  not  answer  him,  but  sat  down  herself,  and  he 
followed  her  example,  with  his  eyes  still  upon  her. 

"  You  have  doubtless  received  my  letter,"  began  Mr. 
Worthington.  "  I  only  arrived  in  Brampton  an  hour  ago, 
but  I  thought  it  best  to  come  to  you  at  once,  under  the 
circumstances." 

"Yes,"  replied  Cynthia,  "  I  received  the  letter." 

"I  am  glad,"  said  Mr.  Worthington.  He  was  beginning 
to  be  a  little  taken  aback  by  her  calmness  and  her  appar 
ent  absence  of  joy.  It  was  scarcely  the  way  in  which  a 
school-teacher  should  receive  the  advances  of  the  first 
citizen,  come  to  give  a  gracious  consent  to  her  marriage 
with  his  son.  Had  he  known  it,  Cynthia  was  anything 
but  calm.  "I  am  glad,"  he  said,  "because  I  took  pains 
to  explain  the  exact  situation  in  that  letter,  and  to  set  forth 
my  own  sentiments.  I  hope  you  understood  them." 

"  Yes,  I  understood  them,"  said  Cynthia,  in  a  low  tone. 

This  was  enigmatical,  to  say  the  least.  But  Mr.  Worth 
ington  had  come  with  such  praiseworthy  intentions  that 
he  was  disposed  to  believe  that  the  girl  was  overwhelmed 
by  the  good  fortune  which  had  suddenly  overtaken  her. 
He  was  therefore  disposed  to  be  a  little  conciliatory. 

"  My  conduct  may  have  appeared  harsh  to  you,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  I  will  not  deny  that  I  opposed  the  matter  at  first. 


526  CONISTON 

Robert  was  still  in  college,  and  he  has  a  generous,  im 
pressionable  nature  which  he  inherits  from  his  poor  mother 
—  the  kind  of  nature  likely  to  commit  a  rash  act  which 
would  ruin  his  career.  I  have  since  become  convinced  that 
he  has  —  ahem  —  inherited  likewise  a  determination  of  pur 
pose  and  an  ability  to  get  on  in  the  world  which  I  confess 
I  had  underestimated.  My  friend,  Mr.  Broke,  has  written 
me  a  letter  about  him,  and  tells  me  that  he  has  already 
promoted  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  You  hear  from  him?  "  inquired  Mr.  Worthington,  giv 
ing  her  a  quick  glance. 

"  Yes,"  said  Cynthia,  her  color  rising  a  little. 

"  And  yet,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  slowly,  "  I  have  been 
under  the  impression  that  you  have  persistently  refused  to 
marry  him." 

"  That  is  true,"  she  answered. 

"I  cannot  refrain  from  complimenting  you,  Cynthia, 
upon  such  rare  conduct,"  said  he.  "  You  will  be  glad  to 
know  that  it  has  contributed  more  than  anything  else 
toward  my  estimation  of  your  character,  and  has  strength 
ened  me  in  my  resolution  that  I  am  now  doing  right.  It 
may  be  difficult  for  you  to  understand  a  father's  feelings. 
The  complete  separation  from  my  only  son  was  telling  on 
me  severely,  and  I  could  not  forget  that  you  were  the 
cause  of  that  separation.  I  knew  nothing  about  you,  ex 
cept  —  "  He  hesitated,  for  she  had  turned  to  him. 

"  Except  what  ?  "  she  asked. 

Mr.  Worthington  coughed.  Mr.  Flint  had  told  him,  that 
very  morning,  of  her  separation  from  Jethro,  and  of  the 
reasons  which  people  believed  had  caused  it.  Unfortu 
nately,  we  have  not  time  to  go  into  that  conversation  with 
Mr.  Flint,  who  had  given  a  very  good  account  of  Cynthia 
indeed.  After  all  (Mr.  Worthington  reflected),  he  had 
consented  to  the  marriage,  and  there  was  no  use  in  bring 
ing  Jethro's  name  into  the  conversation.  Jethro  would 
be  forgotten  soon. 

"  I  will  not  deny  to  you  that  I  had  other  plans  for  my 
son,"  he  said.  "I  had  hoped  that  he  would  marry  a 


TRANSPORTATION  TO  BRAMPTON  527 

daughter  of  a  friend  of  mine.  You  must  be  a  little  indul 
gent  with  parents,  Cynthia,"  he  added  with  a  little  smile, 
"we  have  our  castles  in  the  air,  too.  Sometimes,  as  in 
this  case,  by  a  wise  provision  of  providence  they  go  astray. 
I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  Miss  Duncan's  marriage." 

"  No,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  She  ran  off  with  a  worthless  Italian  nobleman.  I  be 
lieve,  on  the  whole,"  he  said,  with  what  was  an  extreme 
complaisance  for  the  first  citizen,  "  that  I  have  reason  to 
congratulate  myself  upon  Robert's  choice.  I  have  made  in 
quiries  about  you,  and  I  find  that  I  have  had  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  your  mother,  whom  I  respected  very  much. 
And  your  father,  I  understand,  came  of  very  good  people, 
and  was  forced  by  circumstances  to  adopt  the  means  of 
livelihood  he  did.  My  attention  has  been  called  to  the 
letters  he  wrote  to  the  G-uardian,  which  I  hear  have 
been  highly  praised  by  competent  critics,  and  I  have 
ordered  a  set  of  them  for  the  files  of  the  library.  You 
yourself,  I  find,  are  highly  thought  of  in  Brampton  "  (a 
not  unimportant  factor,  by  the  way)  ;  "  you  have  been 
splendidly  educated,  and  are  a  lady.  In  short,  Cynthia,  I 
have  come  to  give  my  formal  consent  to  your  engagement 
to  my  son  Robert." 

"  But  I  am  not  engaged  to  him,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  He  will  be  here  shortly,  I  imagine,"  said  Mr.  Worth- 
ington. 

Cynthia  was  trembling  more  than  ever  by  this  time. 
She  was  very  angry,  and  she  had  found  it  very  difficult  to  re 
press  the  things  which  she  had  been  impelled  to  speak.  She 
did  not  hate  Isaac  Worthington  now  —  she  despised  him. 
He  had  not  dared  to  mention  Jethro,  who  had  been  her 
benefactor,  though  he  had  done  his  best  to  have  her  re 
moved  from  the  school  because  of  her  connection  with 
Jethro. 

"  Mr.  Worthington,"  she  said,  "  I  have  not  yet  made  up 
my  mind  whether  I  shall  marry  your  son." 

To  say  that  Mr.  Worthington's  breath  was  taken  away 
when  he  heard  these  words  would  be  to  use  a  mild  expres 
sion.  He  doubted  his  senses. 


528  CONISTON 

"  What  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  starting  forward,  "  what  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

Cynthia  hesitated  a  moment.  She  was  not  frightened, 
but  she  was  trying  to  choose  her  words  without  passion. 

"  I  refused  to  marry  him,"  she  said,  "because  you  with 
held  your  consent,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  be  the  cause  of  a 
quarrel  between  you.  It  was  not  difficult  to  guess  your 
feelings  toward  me,  even  before  certain  things  occurred  of 
which  I  will  not  speak.  I  did  my  best,  from  the  very 
first,  to  make  Bob  give  up  the  thought  of  marrying  me, 
although  I  loved  and  honored  him.  Loving  him  as  I  do, 
I  do  not  want  to  be  the  cause  of  separating  him  from  his 
father,  and  of  depriving  him  of  that  which  is  rightfully  his. 
But  something  is  due  to  myself.  If  I  should  ever  make 
up  my  mind  to  marry  him,"  continued  Cynthia,  looking  at 
Mr.  Worthington  steadfastly,  "  it  will  not  be  because  your 
consent  is  given  or  withheld." 

"  Do  you  tell  me  this  to  my  face  ? "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Worthington,  now  in  a  rage  himself  at  such  unheard-of 
presumption. 

"  To  your  face,"  said  Cynthia,  who  got  more  self-con 
trolled  as  he  grew  angry.  "  I  believe  that  that  consent, 
which  you  say  you  have  given  freely,  was  wrung  from 
you." 

It  was  unfortunate  that  the  first  citizen  might  not 
always  have  Mr.  Flint  by  him  to  restrain  and  caution 
him.  But  Mr.  Flint  could  have  no  command  over  his 
master's  sensations,  and  anger  and  apprehension  goaded 
Mr.  Worthington  to  indiscretion. 

"  Jethro  Bass  told  you  this !  "  he  cried  out. 

"  No,"  Cynthia  answered,  not  in  the  least  surprised  by 
the  admission,  "  he  did  not  tell  me  —  but  he  will  if  I  ask 
him.  I  guessed  it  from  your  letter.  I  heard  that  he  had 
come  back  to-day,  and  I  went  to  Coniston  to  see  him,  and 
he  told  me  —  he  had  been  defeated." 

Tears  came  into  her  eyes  at  the  remembrance  of  the 
scene  in  the  tannery  house  that  afternoon,  and  she  knew 
now  why  Jethro's  face  had  worn  that  look  of  peace.  He 
had  made  his  supreme  sacrifice  —  for  her.  No,  he  had  told 


TRANSPORTATION  TO  BRAMPTON  529 

her  nothing,  and  she  might  never  have  known.  She  sat 
thinking  of  the  magnitude  of  this  thing  Jethro  had  done, 
and  she  ceased  to  speak,  and  the  tears  coursed  down  her 
cheeks  unheeded. 

Isaac  Worthington  had  a  habit  of  clutching  things  when 
he  was  in  a  rage,  and  now  he  clutched  the  arms  of  the 
chair.  He  had  grown  white.  He  was  furious  with  her, 
furious  with  himself  for  having  spoken  that  which  might 
be  construed  into  a  confession.  He  had  not  finished  writ 
ing  the  letters  before  he  had  stood  self-justified,  and  he 
had  been  self-justified  ever  since.  Where  now  were  these 
arguments  so  wonderfully  plausible?  Where  were  the 
refutations  which  he  had  made  ready  in  case  of  a  barely 
possible  need?  He  had  gone  into  the  Pelican  House 
intending  to  tell  Jethro  of  his  determination  to  agree  to 
the  marriage.  That  was  one.  He  had  done  so  —  that 
was  another  —  and  he  had  written  the  letters  that  Jethro 
might  be  convinced  of  his  good  will.  There  were  still 
more,  involving  Jethro 's  character  for  veracity  and  other 
things.  Summoning  these,  he  waited  for  Cynthia  to  have 
done  speaking,  but  when  she  had  finished — he  said 
nothing.  He  looked  at  her,  and  saw  the  tears  on  her  face, 
and  he  saw  that  she  had  completely  forgotten  his  presence. 

For  the  life  of  him,  Isaac  Worthington  could  not  utter 
a  word.  He  was  a  man,  as  we  know,  who  did  not  talk 
idly,  and  he  knew  that  Cynthia  would  not  hear  what  he 
said;  and  arguments  and  denunciations  lose  their  effect 
when  repeated.  Again,  he  knew  that  she  would  not  be 
lieve  him.  Never  in  his  life  had  Isaac  Worthington  been 
so  ignored,  so  put  to  shame,  as  by  this  school-teacher  of 
Brampton.  Before,  self-esteem  and  sophistry  had  always 
carried  him  off  between  them ;  sometimes,  in  truth,  with 
a  wound  —  the  wound  had  always  healed.  But  he  had  a 
feeling,  to-night,  that  this  woman  had  glanced  into  his  soul, 
and  had  turned  away  from  it.  As  he  looked  at  her  the 
texture  of  his  anger  changed ;  he  forgot  for  the  first  time 
that  which  he  had  been  pleased  to  think  of  as  her  position 
in  life,  and  he  feared  her.  He  had  matched  his  spirit 
against  hers. 

2M 


530  CONISTON 

Before  long  the  situation  became  intolerable  to  him,  foi 
Cynthia  still  sat  silent.  She  was  thinking  of  how  she  had 
blamed  Jethro  for  going  back  to  that  life,  even  though  his 
love  for  her  had  made  him  do  it.  But  Isaac  Worthington 
did  not  know  of  what  she  was  thinking  —  he  thought  only 
of  himself  and  his  predicament.  He  could  not  remain, 
and  yet  he  could  not  go  —  with  dignity.  He  who  had 
come  to  bestow  could  not  depart  like  a  whipped  dog. 

Suddenly  a  fear  transfixed  him:  suppose  that  this 
woman,  from  whom  he  could  not  hide  the  truth,  should  tell 
his  son  what  he  had  done.  Bob  would  believe  her.  Could 
he,  Isaac  Worthington,  humble  his  pride  and  ask  her  to 
keep  her  suspicions  to  herself  ?  He  would  then  be  acknowl 
edging  that  they  were  more  than  suspicions.  If  he  did  so, 
he  would  have  to  appear  to  forgive  her  in  spite  of  what 
she  had  said  to  him.  And  Bob  was  coming  home.  Could 
he  tell  Bob  that  he  had  changed  his  mind  and  withdrawn 
his  consent  to  the  marriage  ?  There  would  be  the  reason, 
and  again  Bob  would  believe  her.  And  again,  if  he  with 
drew  his  consent,  there  was  Jethro  to  reckon  with.  Jethro 
must  have  a  weapon  still,  Mr.  Worthington  thought,  al 
though  he  could  not  imagine  what  it  might  be.  As  Isaac 
Worthington  sat  there,  thinking,  it  grew  clear  to  him  at 
last  that  there  was  but  one  exit  out  of  a  very  desperate 
situation. 

He  glanced  at  Cynthia  again,  this  time  appraisingly. 
She  had  dried  her  eyes,  but  she  made  no  effort  to  speak. 
After  all,  she  would  make  such  a  wife  for  his  son  as  few 
men  possessed.  He  thought  of  Sarah  Hollingsworth.  She 
had  been  a  good  woman,  but  there  had  been  many  times 
when  he  had  deplored  —  especially  in  his  travels  —  the  lack 
of  other  qualities  in  his  wife.  Cynthia,  he  thought,  had 
these  qualities,  —  so  necessary  for  the  wife  of  one  who 
would  succeed  to  power  — though  whence  she  had  got 
them  Isaac  Worthington  could  not  imagine.  She  would 
become  a  personage ;  she  was  a  woman  of  whom  they  had 
no  need  to  be  ashamed  at  home  or  abroad.  Having  com 
pleted  these  reflections,  he  broke  the  silence. 

"I  am  sorry  that  you  should  have  been  misled  into 


TRANSPORTATION  TO   BRAMPTON  531 

thinking  such  a  thing  as  you  have  expressed,  Cynthia,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  believe  that  I  can  understand  something  of 
the  feelings  which  prompted  you.  It  is  natural  that  you 
should  have  a  resentment  against  me  after  everything  that 
has  happened.  It  is  perhaps  natural,  too,  that  I  should 
lose  my  temper  under  the  circumstances.  Let  us  forget 
it.  And  I  trust  that  in  the  future  we  shall  grow  into  the 
mutual  respect  and  affection  which  our  nearer  relation 
ship  will  demand." 

He  rose,  and  took  up  his  hat,  and  Cynthia  rose  too. 
There  was  something  very  fine,  he  thought,  about  her 
carriage  and  expression  as  she  stood  in  front  of  him. 

"  There  is  my  hand,"  he  said,  —  "  will  you  take  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  take  it,"  Cynthia  answered,  "  because  you  are 
Bob's  father." 

And  then  Mr.  Worthington  went  away. 


CHAPTER  XX 

"TO    CHANGE    THE    NAME,    AND    NOT    THE    LETTER" 

I  AM  able  to  cite  one  notable  instance,  at  least,  to  dis 
prove  the  saying  a  part  of  which  is  written  above,  and  I  have 
yet  to  hear  of  a  case  in  which  a  gentleman  ever  hesitated 
a  single  instant  on  account  of  the  first  letter  of  a  lady's  last 
name.  I  know,  indeed,  of  an  occasion  when  locomotives 
could  not  go  fast  enough,  when  thirty  miles  an  hour  seemed 
a  snail's  pace  to  a  young  man  who  sat  by  the  open  window 
of  a  train  that  crept  northward  on  a  certain  hazy  Sep 
tember  morning  up  the  beautiful  valley  of  a  broad  river 
which  we  know. 

It  was  after  three  o'clock  before  he  caught  sight  of  the 
familiar  crest  of  Farewell  Mountain,  and  the  train  ran 
into  Harwich.  How  glad  he  was  to  see  everybody  there, 
whether  he  knew  them  or  not !  He  came  near  hugging 
the  conductor  of  the  Truro  accommodation;  who,  needless 
to  say,  did  not  ask  him  for  a  ticket,  or  even  a  pass.  And 
then  the  young  man  went  forward  and  almost  shook  the 
arms  off  of  the  engineer  and  the  fireman,  and  climbed  into 
the  cab,  and  actually  drove  the  engine  himself  as  far  as 
Brampton,  where  it  arrived  somewhat  ahead  of  schedule, 
—  having  taken  some  of  the  curves  and  bridges  at  a  speed 
a  little  beyond  the  law.  The  engineer  was  richer  by  five 
dollars,  and  the  son  of  a  railroad  president  is  a  privileged 
character,  anyway. 

Yes,  here  was  Brampton,  and  in  spite  of  the  haze  the 
sun  had  never  shone  so  brightly  on  the  terraced  steeple 
of  the  meeting-house.  He  leaped  out  of  the  cab  almost 
before  the  engine  had  stopped,  and  beamed  upon  everybody 
on  the  platform,  —  even  upon  Mr.  Dodd,  who  chanced  to 

532 


"TO  CHANGE   THE  NAME"  533 

be  there.  In  a  twinkling  the  young  man  is  in  Mr.  Sher 
man's  hack,  and  Mr.  Sherman  galloping  his  horse  down 
Brampton  Street,  the  young  man  with  his  head  out  of  the 
window,  smiling  ;  grinning  would  be  a  better  word.  Here 
are  the  iron  mastiffs,  and  they  seem  to  be  grinning,  too. 
The  young  man  flings  open  the  carriage  door  and  leaps  out, 
and  the  door  is  almost  broken  from  its  hinges  by  the  maple 
tree.  He  rushes  up  the  steps  and  through  the  hall,  and 
into  the  library,  where  the  first  citizen  and  his  seneschal 
are  sitting. 

"  Hello,  Father,  you  see  I  didn't  waste  any  time,"  he 
cried,  grasping  his  father's  hand  in  a  grip  that,  made 
Mr.  Worthington  wince.  "  Well,  you  are  a  trump,  after 
all.  We're  both  a  little  hot-headed,  I  guess,  and  do 
things  we're  sorry  for, — but  that's  all  over  now,  isn't  it? 
I'm  sorry.  I  might  have  known  you'd  come  round  when 
you  found  out  for  yourself  what  kind  of  a  girl  Cynthia 
was.  Did  you  ever  see  anybody  like  her  ?  " 

Mr.  Flint  turned  his  back,  and  started  to  walk  out  of 
the  room. 

"  Don't  go,  Flint,  old  boy,"  Bob  called  out,  seizing  Mr. 
Flint's  hand,  too.  "  I  can't  stay  but  a  minute,  now.  How 
are  you?" 

"  All  right,  Bob,"  answered  Mr.  Flint,  with  a  curious, 
kindly  look  in  his  eyes  that  was  not  often  there.  "  I'm 
glad  to  see  you  home.  I  have  to  go  to  the  bank." 

"  Well,  Father,"  said  Bob,  "  school  must  be  out,  and  I 
imagine  you  know  where  I'm  going.  I  just  thought  I'd 
stop  in  to — to  thank  you,  and  get  a  benediction." 

"I  am  very  happy  to  have  you  back,  Robert,"  replied 
Mr.  Worthington,  and  it  was  true.  It  would  have  been 
strange  indeed  if  some  tremor  of  sentiment  had  not  been 
in  his  voice  and  some  gleam  of  pride  in  his  eye  as  he  looked 
upon  his  son. 

"So  you  saw  her,  and  couldn't  resist  her,"  said  Bob. 
"  Wasn't  that  how  it  happened  ?  " 

Mr.  Worthington  sat  down  again  at  the  desk,  and  his 
hand  began  to  stray  among  the  papers.  He  was  thinking 
of  Mr.  Flint's  exit. 


534  CONISTON 

"  I  do  not  arrive  at  my  decisions  quite  in  that  way, 
Robert,"  he  answered. 

"  But  you  have  seen  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  her." 

There  was  a  hesitation,  an  uneasiness  in  his  father's 
tone  for  which  Bob  could  not  account,  and  which  he  at 
tributed  to  emotion.  He  did  not  guess  that  this  hour  of 
supreme  joy  could  hold  for  Isaac  Worthington  another 
sensation. 

"  Isn't  she  the  finest  girl  in  the  world  ?  "  he  demanded. 
"  How  does  she  seem  ?  How  does  she  look  ?  " 

"  She  looks  extremely  well,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  who 
had  now  schooled  his  voice.  "  In  fact,  I  am  quite  ready  to 
admit  that  Cynthia  Wetherell  possesses  the  qualifications 
necessary  for  your  wife.  If  she  had  not,  I  should  never 
have  written  you." 

Bob  walked  to  the  window. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  speaking  with  a  little  difficulty,  "I 
can't  tell  you  how  much  I  appreciate  your  —  your  coming 
round.  I  wanted  to  do  the  right  thing,  but  I  just  couldn't 
give  up  such  a  girl  as  that." 

"  We  shall  let  bygones  be  bygones,  Robert,"  answered 
Mr.  Worthington,  clearing  his  throat. 

"  She  never  would  have  me  without  your  consent.  By 
the  way,"  he  cried,  turning  suddenly,  "  did  she  say  she'd 
have  me  now  ?  " 

"  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  clearing  his  throat 
again,  "  I  believe  she  reserved  her  decision." 

"  I  must  be  off,"  said  Bob,  "  she  goes  to  Coniston  on 
Fridays.  I'll  drive  her  out.  Good-by,  Father." 

He  flew  out  of  the  room,  ran  against  Mrs.  Holden,  whom 
he  astonished  by  saluting  on  the  cheek,  and  astonished 
even  more  by  asking  her  to  tell  Silas  to  drive  his  black 
horses  to  Gabriel  Post's  house  —  as  the  cottage  was  still 
known  in  Brampton.  And  having  hastily  removed  some 
of  the  cinders,  he  flew  out  of  the  door  and  reached  the 
parklike  space  in  the  middle  of  Brampton  Street.  Then 
he  tried  to  walk  decorously,  but  it  was  hard  work. 
What  if  she  should  not  be  in? 


"TO  CHANGE  THE  NAME"  535 

The  door  and  windows  of  the  little  house  were  open  that 
balmy  afternoon,  and  the  bees  were  buzzing  among  the 
flowers  which  Cynthia  had  planted  on  either  side  of  the 
step.  Bob  went  up  the  path,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
through  the  entry  standing  in  the  sitting  room.  She  was, 
indeed,  waiting  for  the  Coniston  stage,  and  she  did  not  see 
him.  Shall  I  destroy  the  mental  image  of  the  reader  who 
has  known  her  so  long  by  trying  to  tell  what  she  looked 
like  ?  Some  heroines  grow  thin  and  worn  by  the  troubles 
which  they  are  forced  to  go  through.  Cynthia  was  not 
this  kind  of  a  heroine.  She  was  neither  tall  nor  short,  and 
the  dark  blue  gown  which  she  wore  set  off  (so  Bob  thought) 
the  curves  of  her  figure  to  perfection.  Her  face  had 
become  a  little  more  grave, — yes,  and  more  noble;  and 
the  eyes  and  mouth  had  an  indescribable,  womanly  sweet 
ness. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  outside  the  doorway  gazing  at 
her ;  hesitating  to  desecrate  that  revery,  which  seemed  to 
him  to  have  a  touch  of  sadness  in  it.  And  then  she  turned 
her  head,  slowly,  and  saw  him,  and  her  lips  parted,  and  a 
startled  look  came  into  her  eyes,  but  she  did  not  move. 
He  came  quickly  into  the  room  and  stopped  again, 
quivering  from  head  to  foot  with  the  passion  which  the 
sight  of  her  never  failed  to  unloose  within  him.  Still 
she  did  not  speak,  but  her  lip  trembled,  and  the  love 
leaping  in  his  eyes  kindled  a  yearning  in  hers,  —  a  yearn 
ing  she  was  powerless  to  resist.  He  may  by  that  strange 
power  have  drawn  her  toward  him  —  he  never  knew. 
Neither  of  them  could  have  given  evidence  on  that  marvel 
lous  instant  when  the  current  bridged  the  space  between 
them.  He  could  not  say  whether  this  woman  whom  he 
had  seized  by  force  before  had  shown  a  like  vitality  in  her 
surrender.  He  only  knew  that  her  arms  were  woven  about 
his  neck,  and  that  the  kiss  of  which  he  had  dreamed  was 
again  on  his  lips,  and  that  he  felt  once  more  her  wonderful, 
supple  body  pressed  against  his,  and  her  heart  beating,  and 
her  breast  heaving.  And  he  knew  that  the  strength  of 
the  love  in  her  which  he  had  gained  was  beyond  estima 
tion. 


536  CONISTON 

Thus  for  a  time  they  swung  together  in  ethereal  space, 
breathless  with  the  motion  of  their  flight.  The  duration 
of  such  moments  is  —  in  words  —  limitless.  Now  he  held 
her  against  him,  and  again  he  held  her  away  that  his  eyes 
might  feast  upon  hers  until  she  dropped  her  lashes  and  the 
crimson  tide  flooded  into  her  face  and  she  hid  it  again  in 
the  refuge  she  had  longed  for, —  murmuring  his  name.  But 
at  last,  startled  by  some  sound  without  and  so  brought 
back  to  earth,  she  led  him  gently  to  the  window  at  the 
side  and  looked  up  at  him  searchingly.  He  was  tanned  no 
longer. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  had  been  working  too  hard,"  she  said. 

"  So  you  do  love  me  ?  "  was  Bob's  answer  to  this  remark. 

Cynthia  smiled  at  him  with  her  eyes :  gravely,  if  such  a 
thing  may  be  said  of  a  smile. 

"  Bob,  how  can  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Cynthia,"  he  cried,  "  if  you  knew  what  I  have  been 
through,  you  wouldn't  have  held  out,  I  know  it.  I  began 
to  think  I  should  never  have  you." 

"  But  you  have  me  now,"  she  said,  and  was  silent. 

"  Why  do  you  look  like  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  smiled  up  at  him  again. 

"  I,  too,  have  suffered,  Bob,"  she  said.  "  And  I  have 
thought  of  you  night  and  day." 

"  God  bless  you,  sweetheart,"  he  cried,  and  kissed  her 
again,  —  many  times.  "  It's  all  right  now,  isn't  it  ?  I 
knew  my  father  would  give  his  consent  when  he  found  out 
what  you  were." 

The  expression  of  pain  which  had  troubled  him  crossed 
her  face  again,  and  she  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Listen,  dearest,"  she  said,  "  I  love  you.  I  am  doing 
this  for  you.  You  must  understand  that." 

"  Why,  yes,  Cynthia,  I  understand  it  —  of  course  I  do," 
he  answered,  perplexed.  "I  understand  it,  but  I  don't 
deserve  it." 

"  I  want  you  to  know,"  she  continued  in  a  low  voice, 
"  that  I  should  have  married  you  anyway.  I  —  I  could 
not  have  helped  it." 

"  Cynthia  !  " 


"TO  CHANGE  THE  NAME"  537 

"  If  you  were  to  go  back  to  the  locomotive  works  to 
morrow,  I  would  marry  you." 

"  On  ninety  dollars  a  month  ?  "  exclaimed  Bob. 

"  If  you  wanted  me,"  she  said. 

"  Wanted  you  !  I  could  live  in  a  log  cabin  with  you 
the  rest  of  my  life." 

She  drew  down  his  face  to  hers,  and  kissed  him. 

"  But  I  wished  you  to  be  reconciled  with  your  father," 
she  said ;  "  I  could  not  bear  to  come  between  you.  You 

—  you  are  reconciled,  aren't  you?" 
"  Indeed,  we  are,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  glad,  Bob,"  she  answered  simply.  "  I  should 
not  have  been  happy  if  I  had  driven  you  away  from  the 
place  where  you  should  be,  which  is  your  home." 

"  Wherever  you  are  will  be  my  home,  sweetheart,"  he 
said,  and  pressed  her  to  him  once  more. 

At  length,  looking  past  his  shoulder  into  the  street,  she 
saw  Lem  Hallowell  pulling  up  the  Brampton  stage  before 
the  door. 

"  Bob,"  she  said,  "  I  must  go  to  Coniston  and  see  Uncle 
Jethro.  I  promised  him." 

Bob's  answer  was  to  walk  into  the  entry,  where  he  stood 
waving  the  most  joyous  of  greetings  at  the  surprised  stage 
driver. 

"  I  guess  you  won't  get  anybody  here,  Lem,"  he  called 
out. 

"  But,  Bob,"  protested  Cynthia,  from  within,  afraid  to 
show  her  face  just  then,  "  I  have  to  go,  I  promised.  And 

—  and  I  want  to  go,"  she  added  when  he  turned. 

"  I'm  running  a  stage  to  Coniston  to-day  myself,  Lem," 
said  he  "  and  I'm  going  to  steal  your  best  passenger." 

Lemuel  immediately  flung  down  his  reins  and  jumped 
out  of  the  stage  and  came  up  the  path  and  into  the  entry, 
where  he  stood  confronting  Cynthia. 

"Hev  you  took  him,  Cynthy?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Yes,  Lem,"  she  answered,  "  won't  you  congratulate 
me?" 

The  warm-hearted  stage  driver  did  congratulate  her  in 
a  most  unmistakable  manner. 


538  CONISTON 

"  I  think  a  sight  of  her,  Bob,"  he  said  after  he  had 
shaken  both  of  Bob's  hands  and  brushed  his  own  eyes  with 
his  coat  sleeve.  "  I've  knowed  her  so  long  —  "  Whereupon 
utterance  failed  him,  and  he  ran  down  the  path  and  jumped 
into  his  stage  again  and  drove  off. 

And  then  Cynthia  sent  Bob  on  an  errand — not  a  very 
long  one,  and  while  he  was  gone,  she  sat  down  at  the  table 
and  tried  to  realize  her  happiness,  and  failed.  In  less  than 
ten  minutes  Bob  had  come  back  with  Cousin  Ephraim,  as 
fast  as  he  could  hobble.  He  flung  his  arms  around  her, 
stick  and  all,  and  he  was  crying.  It  is  a  fact  that  old 
soldiers  sometimes  cry.  But  his  tears  did  not  choke  his 
utterance. 

"  Great  Tecumseh !  "  said  Cousin  Ephraim,  "  so  you've 
went  and  done  it,  Cynthy.  Siege  got  a  little  mite  too  hot. 
I  callated  she'd  capitulate  in  the  end,  but  she  held  out 
uncommon  long." 

"  That  she  did,"  exclaimed  Bob,  feelingly. 

"I  was  tellin'  Bob  I  hain't  got  nothin'  against  him," 
continued  Ephraim. 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Eph,"  said  Cynthia,  laughing  in  spite  of 
herself,  and  glancing  at  Bob,  "  is  that  all  you  can  say  ?  " 

"  Cousin  Eph's  all  right,"  said  Bob,  laughing  too.  "  We 
understand  each  other." 

"  Callate  we  do,"  answered  Ephraim.  "  I'll  go  so  far  as 
to  say  there  hain't  nobody  I'd  ruther  see  you  marry.  Guess 
I'll  hev  to  go  back  to  the  kit,  now.  What's  to  become  of 
the  old  pensioner,  Cynthy?  " 

"  The  old  pensioner  needn't  worry,"  said  Cynthia. 

Then  drove  up  Silas  the  Silent,  with  Bob's  buggy  and 
his  black  trotters.  All  of  Brampton  might  see  them  now, 
and  all  of  Brampton  did  see  them.  Silas  got  out,  —  his 
presence  not  being  required, — and  Cynthia 'was  helped 
in,  and  Bob  got  in  beside  her,  and  away  they  went,  leav 
ing  Ephraim  waving  his  stick  after  them  from  the  door 
step. 

It  is  recorded  against  the  black  trotters  that  they  made 
very  poor  time  to  Coniston  that  day,  though  I  cannot  dis 
cover  that  either  of  them  was  lame.  Lena  Hallo  well,  who 


«  TO  CHANGE  THE  NAME  "  539 

was  there  nearly  an  hour  ahead  of  them,  declares  that  the 
off  horse  had  a  bunch  of  branches  in  his  mouth.  Perhaps 
Bob  held  them  in  on  account  of  the  scenery  that  September 
afternoon.  Incomparable  scenery  !  I  doubt  if  two  lovers 
of  the  renaissance  ever  wandered  through  a  more  wondrous 
realm  of  pleasance  —  to  quote  the  words  of  the  poet.  Spots 
in  it  are  like  a  park,  laid  out  by  that  peerless  landscape 
gardener,  nature :  dark,  symmetrical  pine  trees  on  the 
sward,  and  maples  in  the  fulness  of  their  leaf,  and  great 
oaks  on  the  hillsides,  and  coppices ;  and  beyond,  the  moun 
tain,  the  evergreens  massed  like  cloud-shadows  on  its 
slopes  ;  and  all  —  trees  and  coppice  and  mountain  —  flat 
tened  by  the  haze  until  they  seemed  woven  in  the  softest 
of  blues  and  blue  greens  into  one  exquisite  picture  of  an 
ancient  tapestry.  I,  myself,  have  seen  these  pictures  in 
that  country,  and  marvelled. 

So  they  drove  on  through  that  realm,  which  was  to  be 
their  realm,  and  came  all  too  soon  to  Coniston  green. 
Lem  Hallowell  had  spread  the  well-nigh  incredible  news, 
that  Cynthia  Wetherell  was  to  marry  the  son  of  the  mill- 
owner  and  railroad  president  of  Brampton,  and  it  seemed 
to  Cynthia  that  every  man  and  woman  and  child  of  the  vil 
lage  was  gathered  at  the  store.  Although  she  loved  them, 
every  one,  she  whispered  something  to  Bob  when  she 
caught  sight  of  that  group  on  the  platform,  and  he  spoke 
to  the  trotters.  Thus  it  happened  that  they  flew  by,  and 
were  at  the  tannery  house  before  they  knew  it;  and 
Cynthia,  all  unaided,  sprang  out  of  the  buggy  and  ran  in, 
alone.  She  found  Jethro  sitting  outside  of  the  kitchen 
door  with  a  volume  on  his  knee,  and  she  saw  that  the 
print  of  it  was  large,  and  she  knew  that  the  book  was 
"Robinson  Crusoe." 

Cynthia  knelt  down  on  the  grass  beside  him  and  caught 
his  hands  in  hers. 

"  Uncle  Jethro,"  she  said,  "  I  am  going  to  marry  Bob 
Worthington." 

"Yes,  Cynthy,"  he  answered.  And  taking  the  initia 
tive  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  stooped  down  and 
kissed  her. 


640  CONISTOKT 

"I  knew  —  you  would   be  happy — in  my  happiness," 

she  said,  the  tears  brimming  in  her  eyes. 

"  N-never  have  been  so  happy,  Cynthy,  — never  have." 
"  Uncle  Jethro,  I  never  will  desert  you.     I  shall  always 

take  care  of  you." 

"  R-read  to  me  sometimes,  Cynthy  —  r-read  to  me  ?  " 
But  she  could  not  answer  him.     She  was  sobbing  on  the 

pages  of  that  book  he  had  given  her  —  long  ago. 

#****** 

I  like  to  dwell  on  happiness,  and  I  am  reluctant  to  leave 
these  people  whom  I  have  grown  to  love.  Jethro  Bass 
lived  to  take  Cynthia's  children  down  by  the  brook  and  to 
show  them  the  pictures,  at  least,  in  that  wonderful  edition 
of  "Robinson  Crusoe."  He  would  never  depart  from  the 
tannery  house,  but  Cynthia  went  to  him  there,  many  times 
a  week.  There  is  a  spot  not  far  from  the  Coniston  road, 
and  five  miles  distant  alike  from  Brampton  and  Coniston, 
where  Bob  Worthington  built  his  house,  and  where  he  and 
Cynthia  dwelt  many  years;  and  they  go  there  to  this 
day,  in  the  summer-time.  It  stands  in  the  midst  of  broad 
lands,  and  the  ground  in  front  of  it  slopes  down  to  Conis 
ton  Water,  artificially  widened  here  by  a  stone  dam  into  a 
little  lake.  From  the  balcony  of  the  summer-house  which 
overhangs  the  lake  there  is  a  wonderful  view  of  Coniston 
Mountain,  and  Cynthia  Worthington  often  sits  there  with 
her  sewing  or  her  book,  listening  to  the  laughter  of  her 
children,  and  thinking,  sometimes,  of  bygone  days. 


AFTERWORD 

THE  reality  of  the  foregoing  pages  has  to  the  author,  at 
least,  become  so  vivid  that  he  regrets  the  necessity  of  hav 
ing  to  add  an  afterword.  Every  novel  is,  to  some  extent, 
a  compound  of  truth  and  fiction,  and  he  has  done  his  best 
to  picture  conditions  as  they  were,  and  to  make  the  spirit 
of  his  book  true.  Certain  people  who  were  living  in  St. 
Louis  during  the  Civil  War  have  been  mentioned  as  the 
originals  of  characters  in  "The  Crisis,"  and  there  are 
houses  in  that  city  which  have  been  pointed  out  as  fitting 
descriptions  in  that  novel.  An  author  has,  frequently, 
people,  houses,  and  localities  in  mind  when  he  writes ;  but 
he  changes  them,  sometimes  very  materially,  in  the  process 
of  literary  construction. 

It  is  inevitable,  perhaps,  that  many  people  of  a  certain 
New  England  state  will  recognize  Jethro  Bass.  There  are 
different  opinions  extant  concerning  the  remarkable  origi 
nal  of  this  character ;  ardent  defenders  and  detractors  of 
his  are  still  living,  but  all  agree  that  he  was  a  strange  man 
of  great  power.  The  author  disclaims  any  intention  of 
writing  a  biography  of  him.  Some  of  the  things  set  down 
in  this  book  he  did,  and  others  he  did  not  do.  Some  of  the 
anecdotes  here  related  concerning  him  are,  in  the  main, 
true,  and  for  this  material  the  author  acknowledges  his 
indebtedness  particularly  to  Colonel  Thomas  B.  Cheney  of 
Ashland,  New  Hampshire,  and  to  other  friends  who  have 
helped  him.  Jethro  Bass  was  typical  of  his  Era,  and  it  is 
of  the  Era  that  this  book  attempts  to  treat 

Concerning  the  locality  where  Jethro  Bass  was  born  and 
lived,  it  will  and  will  not  be  recognized.  It  would  have 
been  the  extreme  of  bad  taste  to  have  put  into  these  pages 
any  portraits  which  might  have  offended  families  or  indi 
viduals,  and  in  order  that  it  may  be  known  that  the  author 

541 


542  CONISTON 

has  not  done  so  he  has  written  this  Afterword.  Nor  has 
he  particularly  chosen  for  the  field  of  this  novel  a  state  of 
which  he  is  a  citizen,  and  for  which  he  has  a  sincere  affec 
tion.  The  conditions  here  depicted,  while  retaining  the 
characteristics  of  the  locality,  he  believes  to  be  typical  of 
the  Era  over  a  large  part  of  the  United  States. 

Many  of  the  Puritans  who  came  to  New  England  were 
impelled  to  emigrate  from  the  old  country,  no  doubt,  by 
an  aversion  to  pulling  the  forelock  as  well  as  by  religious 
principles,  and  the  spirit  of  these  men  prevailed  for  a  cer 
tain  time  after  the  Revolution  was  fought.  Such  men 
lived  and  ruled  in  Coniston  before  the  rise  of  Jethro  Bass. 

Self-examination  is  necessary  for  the  moral  health  of 
nations  as  well  as  men,  and  it  is  the  most  hopeful  of  signs 
that  in  the  United  States  we  are  to-day  going  through  a 
period  of  self-examination. 

We  shall  do  well  to  ascertain  the  causes  which  have  led 
us  gradually  to  stray  from  the  political  principles  laid  down 
by  our  forefathers  for  all  the  world  to  see.  Some  of  us  do 
not  even  know  what  those  principles  were.  I  have  met 
many  intelligent  men,  in  different  states  of  the  Union,  who 
could  not  even  repeat  the  names  of  the  senators  who  sat 
for  them  in  Congress.  Macaulay  said,  in  1852,  "  We  now 
know,  by  the  clearest  of  all  proof,  that  universal  suffrage, 
even  united  with  secret  voting,  is  no  security  against  the 
establishment  of  arbitrary  power."  To  quote  James  Russell 
Lowell,  writing  a  little  later :  "  We  have  begun  obscurely  to 
recognize  that  .  .  .  popular  government  is  not  in  itself  a 
panacea,  is  no  better  than  any  other  form  except  as  the  virtue 
and  wisdom  of  the  people  make  it  so." 

As  Americans,  we  cannot  but  believe  that  our  political 
creed  goes  down  in  its  foundations  to  the  solid  rock  of 
truth.  One  of  the  best  reasons  for  our  belief  lies  in  the 
fact  that,  since  1776,  government  after  government  has 
imitated  our  example.  We  have,  by  our  very  existence 
and  rise  to  power,  made  any  decided  retrogression  from 
these  doctrines  impossible.  So  many  people  have  tried  to 
rule  themselves,  and  are  still  trying,  that  one  begins  to 
believe  that  the  time  is  not  far  distant  when  the  United 


AFTERWORD  543 

States,  once  the  most  radical,  will  become  the  most  con 
servative  of  nations. 

Thus  the  duty  rests  to-day,  more  heavily  than  ever,  upon 
each  American  citizen  to  make  good  to  the  world  those 
principles  upon  which  his  government  was  built.  To 
use  a  figure  suggested  by  the  calamity  which  has  lately 
befallen  one  of  the  most  beloved  of  our  cities,  there  is  a 
theory  that  earthquakes  are  caused  by  a  necessary  move 
ment  on  the  part  of  the  globe  to  regain  its  axis.  Whether 
or  not  the  theory  be  true,  it  has  its  political  application. 
In  America  to-day  we  are  trying  —  whatever  the  cost  — 
to  regain  the  true  axis  established  for  us  by  the  founders 
of  our  Republic. 

HARLAKENDEN  HOUSE,  May  7,  1906. 


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An  unsparing  analysis  of  an  ambitious  woman's  soul— a  woman  who 
believed  that  in  social  supremacy  she  would  find  happiness,  and  who  finds 
instead  the  utter  despair  of  one  who  has  chosen  the  things  that  pass  away. 

LYNCH'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Leonard  Merrick.    Illustrated  by 

Geo.  Brehm. 

_  A  story  of  to-day,  telling  how  a  rich  girl  acquires  ideals  of  beautiful  and 
simple  living,  and  of  men  and  love,  quite  apart  from  the  teachings  of  her 
father,  "  Old  Man  Lynch  ";of;Wali  St.  True  to  life,  clever  in  treatment. 

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CY  WHITTAKER'S  PLACE.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Illustrated  by  Wallace  Morgan. 

A  Cape  Cod  story  describing  the  amusing  efforts  of  an  el 
derly  bachelor  and  his  two  cronies  to  rear  and  educate  a  little 
girl.     Full  of  honest  fun — a  rural  drama. 
THE  FORGE  IN  THE  FOREST.    By  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.     Illustrated  by  H.  Sandham. 

A  story  of  the  conflict  in  Acadia  after  its  conquest  by  the 
British.  A  dramatic  picture  that  lives  and  shines  with  the  in 
definable  charm  of  poetic  romance. 

A  SISTER  TO  EVANGELINE.      By   Charles  G.  D. 

Roberts.     Illustrated  by  E.  McConnell. 
Being  the  story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went 
into  exile  with  the  villagers   of  Grand   Pre.     Swift  action, 
fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion  and  search 
ing  analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 

THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS.     By  Clara  Louise  Burn- 
ham.     Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  summer  haunt  on  an  island  in  Casco  Bay  is  the  back 
ground  for  this  romance.  A  beautiful  woman,  at  discord  with 
life,  is  brought  to  realize,  by  her  new  friends,  that  she  may 
open  the  shutters  of  her  soul  to  the  blessed  sunlight  of  joy  by 
casting  aside  vanity  and  self  love.  A  delicately  humorous 
work  with  a  lofty  motive  underlying  it  all. 
THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS.  By  Clara  Louise  Burnham. 

An  amusing  story,  opening  at  a  fashionable  Long  Island  re 
sort,  where  a  stately  Englishwoman  employs  a  forcible  New 
England  housekeeper  to  serve  in  her  interesting  home.  How 
types  so  widely  apart  react  on  each  others'  lives,  all  to  ulti 
mate  good,  makes  a  story  both  humorous  and  rich  in  sentiment. 
THE  LEAVEN  OF  LOVE.  By  Clara  Louise  Burn- 
ham.  Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

At  a  Southern  California  resort  a  world-weary  woman,  young 
and  beautiful  but  disillusioned,  meets  a  girl  who  has  learned 
the  art  of  living — of  tasting  life  in  all  its  richness,  opulence  and 
joy.  The  story  hinges  upon  the  change  wrought  in  the  soul 
of  the  blas£  woman  by  this  glimpse  into  a  cheery  life. 

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QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER.      A  Picture  of  New 
England  Home  Life.     With  illustrations  by  C.  W. 
Reed,  and  Scenes  Reproduced  from  the  Play. 
One  of  the  best  New  England  stories  ever  written.     It  is 
full  of  homely  human  interest  *  *  *  there  is  a  wealth  of  New 
England  village  character, scenes  and  incidents  *  **  forcibly, 
vividly  and  truthfully  drawn.     Few  books  have  enjoyed  a 
greater  sale  and  popularity.     Dramatized,  it  made  the  great 
est  rural  play  of  recent  times. 

THE  FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  QUINCY 
ADAMS  SAWYER.  By  Charles  Felton  Pidgin. 
Illustrated  by  Henry  Roth. 

All  who  love  honest  sentiment,  quaint  and  sunny  humor, 
and  homespun  philosophy  will  find  these  "  Further  Adven 
tures"  a  book  after  their  own  heart. 

HALF  A  CHANCE.  By  Frederic  S.  Isham.  Illus 
trated  by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

The  thrill  of  excitement  will  keep  the  reader  in  a  state  of 
Suspense,  and  he  will  become  personally  concerned  from  the 
start,  as  to  the  central  character,  a  very  real  man  who  suffers, 
dares — and  achieves ! 

VIRGINIA   OF   THE.  AIR    LANES.    By   Herbert 

Quick.    Illustrated  by  William  R.  Leigh. 
The  author  has  seized  the  romantic  moment  for  the  airship 
novel,  and  created  the  pretty  story  of  "  a  lover  and  his  lass  " 
contending  with  an  elderly  relative  for  the  monopoly  of  the 
skies.    An  exciting  tale  of  adventure  in  midair. 

THE  GAME  AND  THE  CANDLE.     By  Eleanor  M, 

Ingram.     Illustrated  by  P.  D.  Johnson. 
The  hero  is  a  young  American,  who,  to  save  his  family  from 
poverty,  deliberately  commits  a  felony.    Then  follow  his  cap 
ture  and  imprisonment,  and  his  rescue  by  a  Russian  Grand 
Duke.    A  stirring  story,  rich  in  sentiment. 

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GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 

DRAMATIZED  NOVELS 

A  Few  that  are  Making  Theatrical  History 

MARY  JANE'S  PA.    By  Norman  Way.    Illustrated  with  scenes 

from  the  play. 

Delightful,  irresponsible  "  Mary  Jane's  Pa"  awakes  one  morning  to  find 
himselt  famous,  and,  genius  being  ill  adapted  to  domestic  ioys,  lie  wanders 
from  home  to  work  out  his  own  unique  destiny.  One  of  the  most  humorous 
bits  of  recent  fiction. 

CHERUB  DEVINE.    By  Sewell  Ford. 

"  Cherub,"  a  good  hearted  but  not  over  refined  young  man  is  brought  in 
touch  with  the  aristocracy.  Of  sprightly  wit,  he  is  sometimes  a  merciless 
analyst,  but  he  proves  in  the  end  that  manhood  counts  for  more  than  anci 
ent  lineage  by  winning  the  love  of  the  fairest  girl  in  the  flock, 

A  WOMAN'S  WAY.     By  Charles  Somerville.    Illustrated  with 

scenes  from  the  play. 

A  story  in  which  a  woman's  wit  and  self-sacrificing  love  save  her  husband 
from  the  toils  of  an  adventuress,  and  change  an  apparently  tragic  situation 
into  one  of  delicious  comedy. 

THE  CLIMAX.    By  George  C.  Jenks. 

With  ambition  luring  her  on,  a  young  choir  soprano  leaves  the  little  village 
where  she  was  born  and  the  limited  audience  of  St.  Jude's  to  train  for  the 
opera  in  New  York  She  leaves  love  behind  her  and  meets  love  more  ardent 
but  not  more  sincere  in  her  new  environment.  How  she  works,  how  she 
studies,  how  she  suffers,  are  vividly  portrayed. 

A  FOOL  THERE  WAS.     By  Porter  Emerson  Browne.     Illus 
trated  by  Edmund  Magrath  and  W.  W.  Faweett. 
A  relentless  portrayal  of  the  career  of  a  man  who  comes  under  the  influence 
of  a  beautiful  but  evil  woman :  how  she  lures  him  on  and  on,  how  he 
struggles,  falls  and  rises,  only  to  fall  again  into  her  net,  make  a  story  of 
unflinching  realism. 

THE   SQUAW   MAN.     By  Julie  Opp  Faversham  and  Edwin 

Milton  Royle.    Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 
A  glowing  story,  rapid  in  action,  bright  in  dialogue  with  a  fine  courageous 
hero  and  a  beautiful  English  heroine. 

THE  GIRL   IN  WAITING.     By  Archibald  Eyre.     Illustrated 

with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  droll  little  comedy  of  misunderstandings,  told  with  a  light  touch,  a  ven 
turesome  spirit  and  an  eye  for  human  oddities. 

THE    SCARLET    PIMPERNEL.     By  Baroness  Orczy.     Illus 
trated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  realistic  story  of  the  days  of  the  French  Revolution,  abounding  in 
dramatic  incident,  with  a  young  English  soldier  of  fortune,  daring,  mysteri 
ous  as  the  hero, 

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Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  with  illustra 
tions  of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

A  SIX-CYLINDER  COURTSHIP,  By  Edw.  Salisbury  Field 

With  a  color  frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher,  and  illustra 
tions  by  Clarence  F.   Underwood,  decorated  pages  and  end 
sheets.    Harrison  Fisher  head  in  colors  on  cover.    Boxed. 
A  story  of  cleverness.    It  is  a  jolly  good  romance  of  love  at 
first  sight  that  will  be  read  with  undoubted  pleasure.    Automobil- 
ing  figures  in  the  story  which  is  told  with  light,  bright  touches, 
while  a  happy  gift  o/  humor  permeates  it  all. 

"  The  book  is  full  of  interesting  folks.  The  patois  of  the  garage  is 
•used  with  full  comic  and  realistic  effect,  and  eff ervescently,  cul 
minating  in  the  usual  happy  finish." — St.  Loui*  Mirror. 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW, 

By  Gene  Stratton-Porter  Author  of  "  FRECKLES  " 

With  illustrations  in  color  by  Oliver  Kemp,  decorations  by 
Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour  and  inlay  cover  in  colors. 
_  The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self-sacrific 
ing  love;  the  friendship  that  gives  freely  without  return,  and  the 
love  that  seeks  first  the  happiness  of  the  object.  The  novel  is 
brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of  nature  and  its 
pathos  and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 

JUDITH  OF  THE  CUMBERLANDS,  By  Alice  MacGowan 

With  illustrations  in  colors,  and  inlay  cover  by  George  Wright. 
No  one  can  fail  to  enjoy  this  moving  tale  with  its  lovely  and  ar 
dent  heroine,  its  frank,  fearless  hero,  its  glowing  love  passages, 
and  its  variety  of  characters,  captivating  or  engaging  humorous 
or  saturnine,  villains,  rascals,  and  men  of  good  will.  A  tale  strong 
and  interesting  in  plot,  faithful  and  vivid  as  a  picture  of  wild 
mountain  life,  and  in  its  characterization  full  of  warmth  and  glow. 

A  MILLION  A  MINUTE,  By  Hudson  Douglas 

With  illustrations  by  Will  Grefe. 

Has  the  catchiest  of  titles,  and  it  is  a  ripping  good  tale  from 
Chapter  I  to  Finis — no  weighty  problems  to  be  solved,  but  just  a 
fine  running  story,  full  of  exciting  incidents,  that  never  seemed 
strained  or  improbable.  It  is  a  dainty  love  yarn  involving  three 
men  and  a  girl.  There  is  not  a  dull  or  trite  situation  in  the  book. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,      -      -      NEW  YORK 


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Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  with  illustra 
tions  of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

THE  SHUTTLE,  By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett 

With  inlay  cover  in  colors  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. ' 
This  great  international  romance  relates  the  story  of  an  Ameri 
can  girl  who,  in  rescuing  her  sister  from  the  ruins  of  her  marriage 
to  an  Englishman  of  title,  displays  splendid  qualities  of  courage, 
tact  and  restraint.  As  a  study  of  American  womanhood  of  modern 
times,  the  character  of  Bettina  Vanderpoel  stands  alone  in  litera 
ture.  As  a  love  story,  the  account  of  her  experience  is  magnificent. 
The  masterly  handling,  the  glowing  style  of  the  book,  give  it  a 
literary  rank  to  which  very  few  modern  novels  have  attained. 

THE  MAKING  OF  A  MARCHIONESS, 

By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett 

Illustrated  with  half  tone'engravings  by  Charles  D.  Williams. 

With  initial  letters,  tail-pieces,  decorative  borders.     Beautifully 

printed,  and  daintily  bound,  and  boxed. 

A  delightful  novel  in  the  author's  most  charming  vein.  The 
scene  is  laid  in  an  English  country  house,  where  an  amiable  Eng 
lish  nobleman  is  the  centre'of  matrimonial  interest  on  the  part  of 
both  the  English  and  Americans  present. 

<«JGraceful,  sprightly,  almost  delicious  in  its  dialogue  and  action. 
It  is  a  book  about  which  one  is  tempted  to  write  ecstatically. 

THE  METHODS  OF  LADY  WALDERHURST, 

By  Francis  Hodgson  Burnett 

A  Companion  Volume  to  "  The  Making  of  a  Marchioness." 

With  illustrations  by  Charles  D.  Williams,  and  with  initial 
letters,  tail-pieces,  and  borders,  by  A.  K.  Womrath.  Beautifully 
printed  and  daintily  bound,  and  boxed. 

"  The  Methods  of  Lady  Walderhurst "  is  a  delightful  story 
which  combines  the  sweetness  of  "  The  Making  of  a  Marchioness," 
with  the  dramatic  qualities  of  "A  Lady  of  Quality."  Lady  Wal 
derhurst  is  one  of  the  most  charming  characters  in  modern  fiction. 

VAYENNE,  By  Percy  Brebner 

With  illustrations  by  E.  Fuhr. 

This  romance  like  the  author's  The  Princess  Maritza  is  charged 
to  the  brim  with  adventure.  Sword  play,  bloodshed,  justice  grown 
the  multitude,  sacrifice,  and  romance,  mingle  in  dramatic  episodes 
that  are  born,  flourish,  and  pass  away  on  every  page. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,      -      -     NEW  YORK 


Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  with  illustra 
tions  of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE,  By  Mary  Roberts  Reinhart 

With  illustrations  by  Lester  Ralph. 

In  an  extended  notice  the  New  York  Sun  says :  "  To  readers 
who  care  for  a  really  good  detective  story  'The  Circular  Stair 
case  '  can  be  recommended  without  reservation.  The  Philadelphia 
Record  declares  that  "  The  Circular  Staircase  "  deserves  the  laur 
els  for  thrills,  for  weirdness  and  things  unexplained  and  inexplicable. 

THE  RED  YEAR,  By  Louis  Tracy 

"  Mr.  Tracy'gives  by  far  the  most  realistic  and  impressive  pic 
tures  of  the  horrors  and  heroisms  of  the  Indian  Mutiny  that 
has  been  available  in  any  book  of  the  kind  *  *  *  There  has  not 
teen  in  modern  times  in  the  history  of  any  land  scenes  so  fear 
ful,  so  picturesque,  so  dramatic,  and  Mr.  Tracy  draws  them  as 
with  the  pencil  of  a  Verestschagin  of  the  pen  of  a  Sienkiewics." 

ARMS  AND  THE  WOMAN,  By  Harold  MacGrath 

With  inlay  cover  in  colors  by  Harrison  Fisher. 
The  story  is  a  blending  of  the  romance  and  adventure  of  the 
middle  ages  with  nineteenth  century  men  and  women ;  and  they  are 
creations  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  not  mere  pictures  of  past  centuries. 
The  story  is  about  Jack  Winthrop,  a  newspaper  man.  Mr.  Mac- 
Grath's  finest  bit  of  character  drawing  is  seen  in  Millars,  the  bro 
ken  down  newspaper  man,  and  Jack's  chum. 

LOVE  IS  THE  SUM  OF  IT  ALL,  By  Geo.  Gary  Eggleston 

With  illustrations  by  Hermann  Heyer. 

In  this  "  plantation  romance  "  Mr.  Eggleston  has  resumed  the 
manner  and  method  that  made  his  "  Dorothy  South  "  one  of  the 
most  famous  books  of  its  time. 

There  are  three  tender  love  stories  embodied  in  it,  and  two 
unusually  interesting  heroines,  utterly  unlike  each  other,  but  each 
possessed  of  a  peculiar  fascination  which  wins  and  holds  the  read 
er's  sympathy.  A  pleasing  vein  of  gentle  humor  runs  through  the 
•work,  but  the  "  sum  of  it  all "  is  an  intensely  sympathetic  love  story. 

HEARTS  AND  THE  CROSS,    By  Harold  Morton  Cramer 

With  illustrations  by  Harold  Matthews  Brett. 
The  hero  is  an  unconventional  preacher  who  follows  the  line  of 
the  Man  of  Galilee,  associating  with  the  lowly,  and  working  for 
them  in  the  ways  that  may  best  serve  them.  He  is  not  recognized 
at  his  real  value  except  by  the  one  woman  who  saw  clearly.  Their 
love  story  is  one  of  the  refreshing  things  in  recent  fiction. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP.  Publishers,      -      -      NEW  YORK 


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Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
size.  Printed  on  excellent  'paper — most  of  them  with  illustra 
tions  of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

CONJUROR'S  HOUSE,  By  Stewart  Edward  White 

Dramatized  under  the  title  of  "THE  CALL  OF  THE  NORTH." 

Illustrated  from  Photographs  of  Scenes  from  the  Play. 
Conjuror's  House  is  a  Hudson  Bay  trading  port  where  the  Fur 
Trading  Company  tolerated  no  rivalry.  Trespassers  were  sen 
tenced  to  "  La  Longue  Traverse  " — which  meant  official  death. 
How  Ned  Trent  entered  the  territory,  took  la  lonrue  traverse, 
and  the  journey  down  the  river  of  life  with  the  factor's  only 
daughter  is  admirably  told.  It  is  a  warm,  vivid,  and  dramatic  story, 
and  depicts  the  tenderness  and  mystery  of  a  woman's  heart. 

ARIZONA  NIGHTS,  By  Stewart  Edward  White. 

With  illustrations  by  N.  C.  Wyeth,  and  beautiful  inlay  cover. 

A  series  of  spirited  tales  emphasizing  some  phase  of  the  life  of 

the  ranch,  plains  and  desert,  and  all,  taken  together,  forming  a 

single  sharply-cut  picture  of  life  in  the  far  Southwest.    All  the 

tonic  of  the  West  is  in  this  masterpiece  of  Stewart  Edward  White. 

THE  MYSTERY, 

By  Stewart  Edward  White  and  Samuel  Hopkins  Adams 

With  illustrations  by  Will  Crawford. 

For  breathless  interest,  concentrated  excitement  and  extraordi 
narily  good  storytelling  on  all  counts,  no  more  completely  satisfy 
ing  romance  has  appeared  for  years.  It  has  been  voted  the  best 
Story  of  its  kind  since  Treasure  Island. 

LIGHT-FINGERED  GENTRY.     By  David  Graham  Phillips 

With  illustrations. 

Mr.  Phillips  has  chosen  the  inside  workings  of  the  great  insurance 
companies  as  his  field  of  battle;  the  salons  of  the  great  Fifth 
Avenue  mansions  as  the  antechambers  of  his  field  of  intrigue; 
and  the  two  things  which  every  natural,  big  man  desires,  love  and 
success,  as  the  goal  of  his  leading  character.  The  book  is  full  of 
practical  philosophy,  which  makes  it  worth  careful  reading. 

THE  SECOND  GENERATION,    By  David  Graham  Phillips 

With  illustrations  by  Fletcher  C.  Ramson,  and  inlay  cover. 
"  It  is  a  story  that  proves  how,  in  some  cases,  the  greatest  harm 
a  rich  man  may  do  his  children,  is  to  leave  them  his  money.  "A 
strong,  wholspme  story  of  contemporary  American  life — thought 
ful,  well-conceived  and  admirably  written ;  forceful,  sincere,  and 
true ;  and  intensely  interesting." — Boston  Herald. 

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printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  finely  illustrated.  Full  and 
handsomely  bound  in  cloth.  Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

NEDRA,  by  George  Barr  McCutcheon,  with  color  frontispiece, 
and  other  illustrations  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

The  story  of  an  elopement  of  a  young  couple  from  Chicago,  who 
decide  to  go  to  London,  travelling  as  brother  and  sister.  Their  diffi 
culties  commence  in  New  York  and  become  greatly  exaggerated 
when  they  are  shipwrecked  in  mid-ocean.  The  hero  finds  himself 
stranded  on  the  island  of  Nedra  with  another  girl,  whom  he  has 
rescued  by  mistake.  The  story  gives  an  account  of  their  finding 
some  of  the  other  passengers,  and  the  circumstances  which  resulted 
from  the  strange  mix-up. 

POWER  LOT,  by  Sarah  P.  McLean  Greene.    Illustrated. 

The  story  of  the  reforma;ion  of  a  man  and  his  restoration  to  self- 
respect  through  the  power  of  honest  labor,  the  exercise  of  honest  in 
dependence,  and  the  aid  of  clean,  healthy,  out-of-door  life  and  sur 
roundings.  The  characters  take  hold  of  the  heart  and  win  sympathy. 
The  dear  old  story  has  never  been  more  lovingly  and  artistically  told, 

MY  MAMIE  ROSE.     The  History  of  My  Regeneration,  by 
Owen  Kildare.     Illustrated. 

This  autobiography  is  a  powerful  book  of  love  and  sociology.  Reads 
like  the  strangest  fiction.  Is  the  strongest  truth  and  deals  with  the 
story  of  a  man  s  redemption  through  a  woman's  love  and  devotion. 

JOHN  BURT,  by  Frederick  Upham  Adams,  with  illustrations. 

John  Burt,  a  New  England  lad,  goes  West  to  seek  his  fortune  and 
finds  it  in  gold  mining.  He  becomes  one  of  the  financial  factors  and 
pitilessly  crushes  his  enemies.  The  story  of  the  Stock  Exchange 
manipulations  was  never  more  vividly  and  engrossingly  told.  A  love 
story  runs  through  the  book,  and  is  handled  with  infinite  skill. 

THE  HEART  LINE,  by  Gelett  Burgess,  with  halftone  illustra 
tions  by  Lester  Ralph,  and  inlay  cover  in  colors. 

f  A  great  dramatic  story  of  the  city  that  was.  A  story  of  Bohemian 
life  in  San  Francisco,  before  the  disaster,  presented  with  mirror-like 
accuracy.  Compressed  into  it  are  all  the  sparkle,  all  the  gayety,  all 
the  wild,  whirling  life  of  the  glad,  mad,  bad,  and  most  delightful  city 
of  the  Golden  Gate. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,         -         -         New  York 


FAMOUS  COPYRIGHT  BOOKS 

IN  POPULAR  PRICED  EDITIONS 

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handsomely  bound  in  doth.  Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 


THE  CATTLE  BARON'S  DAUGHTER.     A  Novel  By  Harold 
Bindloss.     With  illustrations  by  David  Ericson. 

A  story  of  the  fight  for  the  cattle-ranges  of  the  West.  Intense  in 
terest  is  aroused  by  its  pictures  of  Me  in  the  cattle  country  at  that 
critical  moment  of  transition  when  the  great  tracts  of  land  used  for 
grazing  were  taken  up  by  the  incoming  homesteaders,  with  the  in 
evitable  result  of  fierce  contest,  of  passionate  emotion  on  both  sides, 
and  of  final  triumph  of  the  inevitable  tendency  of  the  times. 

WINSTON  OF  THE  PRAIRIE.    With  illustrations  in  color  by 
W.  Herbert  Dunton. 

A  man  of  upright  character,  young  and  clean,  but  badly  worsted 
in  the  battle  of  life,  consents  as  a  desperate  resort  to  impersonate  for 
a  period  a  man  of  his  own  age — scoundrelly  in  character  but  of  an 
aristocratic  and  moneyed  family.  The  better  man  finds  himself  barred 
from  resuming  his  old  name.  How,  coming  into  the  other  man's  pos 
sessions,  he  wins  the  respect  of  all  men,  and  the  love  of  a  fastidious, 
delicately  nurtured  girl,  is  the  thread  upon  which  the  story  hangs.  It 
is  one  of  the  best  novels  of  the  West  that  has  appeared  for  years. 

THAT  MAINWARING  AFFAIR.  •    By  A.  Maynard  Barbour. 
With  illustrations  by  E.  Plaisted  Abbott. 

A  novel  with  a  most  intricate  and  carefully  unraveled  plot.  A 
naturally  probable  and  excellently  developed  story  and  the  reader 
will  follow  the  fortunes  of  each  character  with  unabating  interest 
*  *  »>>*  the  interest  is  keen  at  the  close  of  the  first  chapter  and  in 
creases  to  the  end. 

AT  THE  TIME  APPOINTED.    WiA  a  frontispiece  in  colors 
by  J.  H.  Marchand. 

The  fortunes  of  a  young  mining  engineer  who  through  an  accident 
loses  his  memory  and  identity.  In  his  new  character  and  under  his 
new  name,  the  hero  lives  a  new  life  of  struggle  land  adventure.  The 
volume  will  be  found  highly  entertaining  by  those  who  appreciate  a 
thoroughly  good  story. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,         -         -         New  York 


BOOKS  ON  NATURE  STUDY  BY 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

Handsomely  bound  b  cloth.     Price,  75  cents  per  volume,  postpaid. 

THE  KINDRED  OF  THE  WILD.  A  Book  of  Animal  Life. 
With  illustrations  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Appeals  alike  to  the  young  and  to  the  merely  youthful-hearted. 
Close  observation.  Graphic  description.  We  get  a  sense  of  the 
great  wild  and  its  denizens.  Out  of  the  common.  Vigorous  and  full 
of  character.  The  book  is  one  to  be  enjoyed ;  all  the  more  because 
it  smacks  of  the  forest  instead  of  the  museum.  John  Burroughs  says : 
"  The  volume  is  in  many  ways  the  most  brilliant  collection  of  Animal 
Stories  that  has  appeared.  It  reaches  a  high  order  of  literary  merit." 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  ANCIENT  WOOD.    Illustrated. 

This  book  strikes  a  new  note  in  lit  erature.  It  is  a  realistic  romance 
of  the  folk  of  the  forest— a  romance  of  the  alliance  of  peace  between 
a  pioneer's  daughter  in  the  depths  of  the  ancient  wood  and  the  wild 
beasts  who  f elt  ner  spell  and  became  her  friends.  It  is  not  fanciful, 
with  talking  beasts  ;  nor  is  it  merely  an  exquisite  idyl  of  the  beasts 
themselyes.  It  is  an  actual  romance,  in  which  the  animal  characters 
play  their  parts  as  naturally  as  do  the  human.  The  atmosphere  of 
the  book  is  enchanting.  The  reader  feels  the  undulating,  whimpering 
music  of  the  forest,  the  power  of  the  shady  silences,  the  dignity  of  the 
beasts  who  live  closest  to  the  heart  of  the  wood. 

THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  TRAILS.  A  companion  volume 
to  the  "  Kindred  of  the  Wild."  With  48  full  page  plates 
and  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston  BulL 

These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,  and  yet  robust  in 
their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phases  of  woodcraft.  "This 
is  a  book  full  of  delight.  An  additional  charm  lies  in  Mr.  Bull's  faith 
ful  and  graphic  illustrations,  which  in  fashion  all  their  own  tell  the 
story  of  the  wild  life,  illuminating  and  supplementing  the  pen  pictures 
of  the  authors," — Literary  Digest. 

RED  FOX.  The  Story  of  His  Adventurous  Career  in  the  Ring- 
waak  Wilds,  and  His  Triumphs  over  the  Enemies  of  His 
Kind.  Wth  50  illustrations,  including  frontispiece  in  color 
and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

A  brilliant  chapter  in  natural  history.  Infinitely  more  wholesome 
reading  than  the  average  tale  of  sport,  since  it  gives  a  glimpse  of  the 
hunt  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  hunted.  "  True  in  substance  but 
fascinating  as  fiction.  It  will  interest  old  and  young,  city-bound  and 
free-footed,  those  who  know  animals  and  those  who  do  not." — 
Chicago  Record-Herald. 

GROSSET    &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,        -        -        New  York 


BOOKS  ON  GARDENING  AND  FARMING 

THREE  ACRES  AND  LIBERTY.  By  Bolton  Hall. 
Shows  the  value  gained  by  intensive  culture.  Should  be 
in  the  hands  of  every  landholder.  Profusely  illustrated. 
i2mo.  Cloth,  75  cents. 

Every  chapter  in  the  book  has  been  revised  by  a  specialist  The 
author  clearly  brings  out  the  full  value  that  is  to  be  derived  from  in- 
tensive  culture  and  intelligent  methods  given  to  small  land  holdings. 
Given  untrammelled  opportunity,  agriculture  will  not  only  care  veil 
for  itself  and  for  those  intelligently  engaged  in  it,  but  it  will  give 
stability  to  all  other  industries  and  pursuits.  (From  the  Preface.) 
"  The  author  piles  fact  upon  authenticated  instance  and  successful 
experiment  upon  proved  example,  until  there  is  no  doubt  what  can 
be  done  with  land  intensively  treated.  He  shows  where  th«  land, 
may  be  found,  what  kind  we  must  have,  what  it  will  cost,  and  -,vbat 
to  do  with  it.  It  is  seldom  we  find  so  much  enthusiasm  tempered 
by  so  much  experience  and  common  sense.  The  book  points  out  in 
a  practical  way  the  possiblities  of  a  very  small  farm  intensively  cul 
tivated.  It  embodies  the  results  of  actual  experience  and  it  is  in 
tended  to  be  workable  in  every  detail." — Providence  Journal. 

NEW  CREATIONS  IN  PLANT  LIFE.    By  W.  S.  Har- 

wood  and  Luther  Burbank.      An  Authoritative  Account 

of  the  Work   of    Luther    Burbank.      With   48   full-page 

half-tone  plates,     izmo.    Cloth,  75  cents. 

Mr.  Burbank  has  produced  more  new  forms  of  plant  life  than  any 

other  man  who  has  ever  lived.     These  have  been  either  for  the 

adornment  of  the  world,  such  as  new  and  improved  flowers,  or  for 

the  enrichment  of  the  world,  such  as  new  and  improved  fruits,  nuts, 

vegetables,  grasses,  trees  and  the  like.     This  volume  describes  his 

life  and  work  in  detail,  presenting  a  clear  statement  of  his  methods, 

showing  how  others  may  follow  the  same  lines,  and  introducing  much 

never  before  made  public.     "  Luther  Burbank  is  unquestionably  the 

greatest  student  of  human  life  and  philosophy  of  living  things  in 

America,  if  not  in  the  world." — S.  H.  Comings,  Cor.  Sec.  American 

League  of  Industrial  Education. 

A  WOMAN'S  HARDY  GARDEN.  By  Helena  Rutherfurd 
Ely.  Superbly  illustrated  with  49  full-page  halftone  en 
gravings  from  photographs  by  Prof.  C.  F.  Chandler. 
i2mo.  Cloth. 

"  Mrs.  Ely  is  the  wisest  and  most  winsome  teacher  of  the  fascinat 
ing  art  of  gardening  that  we  have  met  in  modern  print.  *  *  A 
book  to  be  welcomed  with  enthusiasm."— New  York  Tribune.  "Let 
us  sigh  with  gratitude  and  read  the  volume  with  delight.  For  here 
it  all  is  :  What  we  should  plant,  and  when  we  shonld  plant  it;  how 
to  care  for  it  after  it  is  planted  and  growing ;  what  to  do  if  it  does 
not  grow  and  blossom  ;  what  will  blossom,  and  when  it  will  blossom, 
and  what  the  blossom  will  be.  It  is  full  of  garden  lore ;  of  the  spirit 
of  happy  out-door  life.  A  good  and  wholesome  book. —  The  Dial. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  NEW  YORK 


Stewart  Edward  White's 

Great  Novels  of  Western  Life. 

THE  BLAZED  TRAIL.  With  illustrations  by  Thomas  Fogarty. 
"  It  is  a  wholesome  story,  full  of  sinew  and  pluck  and  endur 
ance,  with  gleams  of  humor  and  touches  of  philosophy  and  play 
of  courage.  It  tells  of  the  young  man  who  blazed  his  way  to  for 
tune  through  the  heart  of  the  Michigan  pines." — The  Critic. 

THE  CLAIM  JUMPERS.    A  Romance. 

A  tale  of  a  Western  mining  camp  and  the  making  of  a  man. 
DeLancy  Bennington,  of  an  aristocratic  Boston  family,  finds  him 
self  manager  of  a  mine  in  a  gulch  of  the  Black  Hills.  The  ten 
derfoot  has  a  hard  time  of  it,  but  meets  the  situation,  shows  the 
stuff  he  is  made  of  and  "  wins  out ' '  in  more  ways  than  one. 

THE  MAGIC  FOREST.    With  illustrations. 

"  No  better  book  could  be  put  in  a"  young  boy's  hands.  The 
sympathetic  way  in  which  the  children  of  the  wild  and  their  life 
is  treated  could  only  belong  to  one  who  is  in  love  with  the  forest 
and  the  open  air.  Based  on  fact  and  throbbing  with  life." 

THE  SILENT  PLACES.    With  illustrations. 

"  The  wonders  of  the  northern  forests  through  all  the  four  sea 
sons,  as  well  as  the  contrasts  between  youth  and  age,  feminine  de 
votion  and  masculine  power,  the  intelligence  of  the  Caucasian 
and  the  instinct  of  the  Indian,  all  are  finely  drawn,  while  the 
knowledge  of  nature  informs  every  page." — The  Dial. 

THE  WESTERNERS. 

"  Belongs  to  that  brilliant  galaxy  of  novels  which  open  with  such 
promise  for  pure  American  fiction.  This  story  of  the  Black  Hills 
will  claim  its  place  among  the  best  of  the  American  novels.  It 
portrays  the  life  of  the  new  West  as  no  other  book  has  yet  done. 

CONJUROR'S  HOUSE. 

Was  a  shipping  center  in  the  fur  trade  in  the  great  days  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company.  How  Ned  Trent  entered  the  forbid 
den  territory,  took  la  longue  traverse,  and  subsequently  the  long 
journey  down  the  river  of  life  with  the  factor's  daughter  is 
ingeniously  told,  with  a  wealth  of  thrilling  and  romantic  situations. 

ARIZONA  NIGHTS.    With  illustrations  by  N.  C.  Wyeth. 

A  series  of  spirited  tales  emphasizing  some  phase  of  the  life  of 
the  ranch,  plains  and  desert,  and  all,  taken  together,  forming  a 
single  sharply-cut  picture  of  life  in  the  far  Southwest.  All  the 
tonic  of  the  West  is  in  this  masterpiece  of  Stewart  Edward  White. 

THE  MYSTERY.    With  illustrations  by  Will  Crawford. 

For  breathless  interest,  concentrated  excitement  and  extraordi 
narily  good  story-telling  on  all  counts,  no  more  completely  satis 
fying  romance  has  appeared  for  years.  It  is  mystery  and  adven- 
venture,  and  the  best  story  of  its  kind  since  Treasure  Island. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP.  Publishers,     -     -     NEW  YORK 


NOVELS  OF  SOUTHERN  LIFE 

By  THOMAS  DIXON,  JR. 

Handsomely  bound  in  dotL     Price,  75  cents  per  volume,  postpaid. 


THE  LEOPARD'S   SPOTS.    A   Story   of  the   White    Man's 
Burden,  1865-1900.    With  illustrations  by  C.  D.  Williams. 

A  tale  of  the  South  about  the  dramatic  events  of  Destruction,  Re 
construction  and  Upbuilding.  The  work  is  able  and  eloquent  and  the 
verifiable  events  of  history  are  followed  closely  in  the  development  of 
a  story  full  of  struggle.  It  has  been  called  the  "most  noteworthy 
book  of  recent  years." 

THE  CLANSMAN.    With  illustrations,"  by  Arthur  I.  Keller. 

While  not  connected  with  it  in  any  way,  this  is  a  companion  vol 
ume  to  the  author's  "epoch-making"  story  The  Leopard's  Spots. 
It  is  a  novel  with  a  great  deal  to  it,  and  which  very  properly  is  going 
to  interest  many  thousands  of  readers.  *  *  *  It  is,  first  of  all,  a  force 
ful,  dramatic,  absorbing  love  story,  with  a  sequence  of  events  so  sur 
prising  that  one  is  prepared  for  the  fact  that  much  of  it  is  founded  on 
actual  happenings;  but  Mr.  Dixon  has,  as  before,  a  deeper  purpose — 
he  has  aimed  to  show  that  the  original  formers  of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan 
were  modern  knights  errant  taking  the  only  means  at  hand  to  right 
intolerable  wrongs. 

THE  TRAITOR.    A  Story  of  the  Fall  of  the  Invisible  Empire. 
Illustration*  in  colors  by  C.  D.  Williams.    (Ready  July  1) 

The  third  and  last  book  in  this  remarkable  trilogy  of  novels  relating 
to  Southern  Reconstruction.  It  is  a  thrilling  story  of  love,  adventure, 
treason,  and  the  United  States  Secret  Service  dealing  with  the  decline 
and  fall  9f  the  KuKlux  Klan. 

Mr.  Dixon  was  a  minister  of  the  church  before  he  undertook  writ 
ing  books.  Some  people  seem  to  think  that  there  is  a  little  too  much 
sermonizing  in  his  stories;  be  that  as  it  may,  the  books  have  been  very 
widely  read  and  have  provoked  no  end  of  discussion.  The  Recon 
struction  policy  is  a  big  subject  with  the  author — and  one  very  near 
to  his  heart  Throughout  all  his  books  there  is  the  ring  of  truth,  and 
honesty,  and  hot-eyed  indignation. 

THE  ONE  WOMAN.    A  Story  of  Modern  Utopia. 

A  love  story  and  character  study  of  three  strong  men  and  two  fas 
cinating  women.  In  swift,  unified,  and  dramatic  action,  we  see 
Socialism  a  deadly  force,  in  the  hour  of  the  eclipse  of  Faith,  destroy 
ing  the  home  life  and  weakening  the  fiber  of  Anglo  Saxon  manhood. 

GROSSET    &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,        -        -        New  York 


BRILLIANT  AND  SPIRITED  NOVELS 

AGNES  AND  EGERTON  CASTLE 

Handsomely  bound  in  cloth.     Price,  75  cents  per  volume,  postpaid. 

THE  PRIDE  OF  JENNICO.    Being  a  Memoir  of  Captain  Basil 
Jennico. 

"  What  separates  it  from  most  books  of  its  class  is  its  distinction 
of  manner,  its  unusual  grace  of  diction,  its  delicacy  of  touch,  and  the 
fervent  charm  of  its  love  passages.  It  is  a  very  attractive  piece  of 
romantic  fiction  relying  for  its  effect  upon  character  rather  than  inci 
dent,  and  upon  vivid  dramatic  presentation." — The  Dial.  "  A  stirring, 
brilliant  and  dashing  story."—  The  Oatlook. 

THE  SECRET  ORCHARD.  Illustrated  by  Charles  D.  Williams. 

The  "  Secret  Orchard  "  is  set  in  the  midst  of  the  ultra  modern  society. 
The  scene  is  in  Paris,  but  most  of  the  characters  are  English  speak 
ing.  The  story  was  dramatized  in  London,  and  in  it  the  Kendalb 
scored  a  great  theatrical  success. 

"  Artfully  contrived  and  full  of  romantic  charm  *  *  *  it  pos 
sesses  ingenuity  of  incident,  a  figurative  designation  of  the  unhal 
lowed  scenes  in  which  unlicensed  love  accomplishes  and  wrecks  faith 
and  happiness." — Athenaeum. 

YOUNG  APRIL.    With  illustrations  by  A.  B.  WenzelL 

"  It  is  everything  that  a  good  romance  should  be,  and  it  carries 
about  it  an  air  of  distinction  both  rare  and  delightful." — Chicago 
Tribune.  "  With  regret  one  turns  to  the  last  page  of  this  delightful 
novel,  so  delicate  in  its  romance,  so  brilliant  in  its  episodes,  so  spark 
ling  in  its  art,  and  so  exquisite  in  its  diction. " —  Worcester  Spy. 

FLOWER  O'  THE  ORANGE.     With  frontispiece. 

We  have  learned  to  expect  from  these  fertile  authors  novels  grace 
ful  in  form,  brisk  in  movement,  and  romantic  in  conception.  This 
carries  the  reader  back  to  the  days  of  the  bewigged  and  beruffled 
gallants  of  the  seventeenth  century  and  tells  him  of  feats  of  arms  and 
adventures  in  love  as  thrilling  and  picturesque,  yet  delicate,  as  the 
utmost  seeker  of  romance  may  ask. 

MY  MERRY  ROCKHURST.    Illustrated  by  Arthur  E.  Becher. 

In  the  eight  stories  of  a  courtier  of  King  Charles  Second,  which  are 
here  gathered  together,  the  Castles  are  at  their  best,  reviving  all  the 
fragrant  charm  of  those  books,  like  The  Pride  of  Jennico,  in  which 
they  first  showed  an  instinct,  amounting  to  genius,  for  sunny  romances. 
The  book  is  absorbing  *  *  *  and  is  as  spontaneous  in  feeling  as  it  is 
artistic  in  execution." — New  York  Tribune. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,         -         -         New  York 


MEREDITH    NICHOLSON'S 
FASCINATING  ROMANCES 

Handsomely  bound  in  cloth.     Price,  75  cents  per  volume,  postpaid. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES.    With  a  frontis 
piece  in  colors  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 

A  novel  of  romance  and  adventure,  of  love  and  valor,  of  mystery  and 
hidden  treasure.  The  hero  is  required  to  spend  a  whole  year  in  the 
isolated  house,  which  according  to  his  grandfather's  will  shall  then 
become  his.  If  the  terms  of  the  will  be  violated  the  house  goes  to  a 
young  woman  whom  the  will,  furthermore,  forbids  him  to  marry. 
Nobody  can  guess  the  secret,  and  the  whole  plot  moves  along  with 
an  exciting  zip. 

THE  PORT  OF  MISSING  MEN.    With  illustrations  by  Clar 
ence  F.  Underwood. 

There  is  romance  of  love,  mystery,  plot,  and  fighting,  and  a  breath 
less  dash  and  go  about  the  telling  which  makes  one  quite  forget 
about  the  improbabilities  of  the  story ;  and  it  all  ends  in  the  old- 
fashioned  healthy  American  way.  Shirley  is  a  sweet,  courageous 
heroine  whose  shining  eyes  lure  from  page  to  page. 

ROSALIND  AT  REDGATE.    Illustrated  by  Arthur  I.  Keller. 

The  author  of  "  The  House  of  a  Thousand  Candles "  has  here 
given  us  a  bouyant  romance  brimming  with  lively  humor  and  opti 
mism  ;  with  mystery  that  breeds  adventure  and  ends  in  love  and  hap 
piness.  A  most  entertaining  and  delightful  book. 

THE  MAIN  CHANCE.     With  illustrations  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  "  traction  deal "  in  a  Western  city  is  the  pivot  about  which  the 
action  of  this  clever  story  revolves.  But  it  is  in  the  character-draw 
ing  of  the  principals  that  the  author's  strength  lies.  Exciting  inci 
dents  develop  their  inherent  strength  and  weaknesss,  and  if  virtue  wins 
in  the  end,  it  is  quite  in  keeping  with  its  carefully -planned  antecedents. 
The  N.  Y.  Sun  says :  "  We  commend  it  for  its  workmanship — for  its 
smoothness,  its  sensible  fancies,  and  for  its  general  charm." 

ZELDA  DAMERON.      With  portraits  of  the  characters  by 
John  Cecil  Clay. 

"A  picture  of  the  new  West,  'at  once  startlingly  and  attractively 
true.  *  *  *  The  heroine  is  a  strange,  sweet  mixture  of  pride,  wil- 
fulness  and  lovable  courage.  The  characters  are  superbly  drawn ;  the 
atmosphere  is  convincing.  There  is  about  it  a  sweetness,  a  whole- 
someness  and  a  sturdiness  that  commends  it  to  earnest,  kindly  and 
wholesome  people." — Boston  Transcript. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,         -         -         New  York 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

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